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EDITION USED

Lectures On Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, ed. J. C. Bryce, vol. IV of The Glasgow Edition of the

Works and Correspondence of Adam Smith (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1985). This volume is

available from Liberty Fund's online catalog

The Glasgow Edition of the Works and Correspondence of Adam Smith and the associated

volumes are published in hardcover by Oxford University Press. The six titles of the Glasgow

Edition, but not the associated volumes, are being published in softcover by Liberty Fund. The

online edition is published by Liberty Fund under license from Oxford University Press.

transmitted retransmitted lent or reproduced in any form or medium without the permission of

Oxford University Press.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE

z KEY TO ABBREVIATIONS AND REFERENCES

INTRODUCTION

{ 1. THE MANUSCRIPT

{

2. THE LECTURES

{ 3. CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING THE FIRST FORMATION OF

LANGUAGES

 NOTE ON THE TEXT

{

4. RHETORIC AND LITERARY CRITICISM

{ 5. SYSTEM AND AESTHETICS

{

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

LECTURE 2

{

ENDNOTES

LECTURE 3

OF THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE

{

ENDNOTES

THE ONLINE LIBRARY OF

LIBERTY

CLASSICS IN THE HISTORY OF LIBERTY

ADAM SMITH, THE GLASGOW EDITION OF THE WORKS AND

CORRESPONDENCE OF ADAM SMITH (1981-1987)

VOL. IV: LECTURES ON RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES

Updated: April 7, 2004

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z LECTURE 4

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE 5.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE 6.

OF WHAT IS CALLED THE TROPES AND FIGURES OF SPEECH.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 7.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 8.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 9

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 10

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 11

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 12.

OF COMPOSITION

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 13

{ ENDNOTES

z |LECTURE. 14

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE 15

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. 16

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XVII.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XVIII

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. XIX

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. XX.

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXI

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXII

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXIII

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXIV

SINE LIBRO EXCEPT WHAT HE READ FROM LIVY

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXV.

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{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXVI

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXVII

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXVIII

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE XXIX

{ ENDNOTES

z LECTURE. XXX

{ ENDNOTES

z CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING THE FIRST FORMATION

LANGUAGES, AND THE

DIFFERENT GENIUS OF ORIGINAL AND COMPOUNDED LANGUAGES.

{ ENDNOTES

 NOTES TO THE NOTES

z APPENDIX 1 THE BEE, OR LITERARY WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER, FOR WEDNESDAY,

MAY 11, 1791.

{ ENDNOTES

z APPENDIX 2 TABLE OF CORRESPONDING PASSAGES

{ ENDNOTES

PREFACE

This volume, consisting of a version of Adam Smith’s first work, may in a double sense claim as

its ‘onlie begetter’ John Maule Lothian (1896–1970), himself a son of the University of Glasgow,

M.A. 1920; he discovered the manuscript, and the careful scholarship with which he edited it has

enormously eased the labours of anyone who now studies it. Both publicly and privately he

acknowledged the help he had received over the classical references from Professor W. S. Watt of

the Chair of Humanity in the University of Aberdeen, and as Professor Watt’s beneficiary at one

remove I wish to add my own thanks. My longest–standing debt in this field is to that great

scholar who taught so many to take seriously the literary criticism of the eighteenth century,

David Nichol Smith; and he delighted to recall his own beginnings as an academic teacher in

Adam Smith’s University. Gaps and errors are of course my own. ‘What is obvious is not always

known, and what is known is not always to hand’. Johnson’s wry comment must haunt the mind

of anyone who tries to annotate a text as densely allusive as the present one.

The contribution of Professor Andrew Skinner to this book far exceeds what even the most

generous General Editor might be expected to make. That the materials ever reached printable

shape, or after arduous and complex proof–reading became presentable, is due entirely to his

determined energy and wisdom. My personal as distinct from my editorial debt to him is for all he

has taught me in conversation and by his writings about the central role of the Rhetoric in Adam

Smith’s work as a whole. To the secretaries of the Glasgow Political Economy Department,

especially Miss Chrissie MacSwan and Mrs Jo Finlayson, I am very grateful for the skill and

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patience with which they typed extremely awkward copy. I have enjoyed the counsels of Mr Jack

Baldwin of Glasgow University Library’s Special Collections; of Professors D. D. Raphael and M. L.

Samuels; and of Mr J. K. Cordy of the Oxford University Press, who in addition has shown

apparently inexhaustible patience. I am also grateful to Mary Robertson for her invaluable

assistance in compiling the index.

1982

J.C.B.

KEY TO ABBREVIATIONS AND REFERENCES

WORKS OF ADAM SMITH

OTHER WORKS

Corr. Correspondence

EPS

Essays on Philosophical Subjects included among which

are:

Ancient Logics ‘The History of the Ancient Logics and Metaphysics’

Ancient Physics ‘The History of the Ancient Physics’

Astronomy ‘The History of Astronomy’

English and Italian

Verses

‘Of the Affinity between certain English and Italian

Verses’

External Senses ‘Of the External Senses’

Imitative Arts

‘Of the Nature of that Imitation which takes place in

what are called the Imitative Arts’

Stewart

Dugald Stewart, ‘Account of the Life and Writings of

Adam Smith, LL.D’.

Languages

Considerations Concerning the First Formation of

Languages

TMS The Theory of Moral Sentiments

WN The Wealth of Nations

LJ(A) Lectures on Jurisprudence, Report of 1762–3

LJ(B) Lectures on Jurisprudence, Report dated 1766

LRBL Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres

JML

Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, ed. John M. Lothian (Nelson,

1963)

LCL Loeb Classical Library

OED Oxford English Dictionary

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Note: symbols used in the textual apparatus are explained on pp. 7 and 27.

INTRODUCTION

1. THE MANUSCRIPT

In The Scotsman newspaper of 1 and 2 November 1961 John M. Lothian, Reader (later titular

Professor) in English in the University of Aberdeen announced his discovery and purchase, at the

sale of an Aberdeenshire manor–house library in the late summer of 1958, of two volumes of

manuscript ‘Notes of Dr. Smith’s Rhetorick Lectures’. They had been part of the remainder of a

once extensive collection begun in the sixteenth century by William Forbes of Tolquhoun Castle,

and in the late eighteenth century the property of the Forbes–Leith family of Whitehaugh, an

estate brought to the Forbeses by the marriage of Anne Leith. In September 1963 Lothian

published an edition of the notes as Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres Delivered in the

University of Glasgow by Adam Smith, Reported by a Student in 1762–63 (Nelson).

Identification of the lecturer was easy. It had always been known that Smith gave lectures on

rhetoric; his manuscript of these (Stewart, I. 17) was among those destroyed in the week before

his death in obedience to the strict instructions he had given, first to Hume in 1773, then in 1787

to his literary executors Joseph Black and James Hutton. Lecture 3 of the discovered report is a

shortened version of the essay on the First Formation of Languages published by Smith in 1761.

Further, Lothian found later in the 1958 sale volumes 2–6 of manuscript notes of lectures on

Jurisprudence, and though they bore no name they turned out to be a more elaborate version of

the lectures by Smith reported in notes discovered in 1876 and published by Edwin Cannan in

1896. A search in Aberdeen junk–shops was rewarded, thanks to the extraordinary serendipity

which Lothian’s friends always envied him, by the finding of the missing volume 1. These volumes

have the same format and paper as the Rhetoric and the same hand as its main text.

When the Whitehaugh family acquired these manuscripts is not known. Absence of mention of

them in three successive catalogues of the collection now in Aberdeen University Library has

probably no significance; these are lists of printed books. No link between the Forbes–Leiths and

the University of Glasgow has come to light. The most probable one is that at some point they

engaged as a private tutor a youth who had been one of Adam Smith’s students and who knew

that he would endear himself to his notably bookish employers by bringing them this otherwise

unavailable work by a philosopher already enjoying an international reputation as the author of

the Moral Sentiments. Such private tutorships were among the most usual first employments of

products of the Scottish universities in the eighteenth century; and of Smith himself we learn

from the obituary notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine of August 1790 (lx. 761) that ‘his friends

wished to send him abroad as a travelling tutor’ when he came down from Oxford in 1746 after

six years as Snell Exhibitioner at Balliol—though WN V. f. i 45 suggests that even after his happy

travels with the young Duke of Buccleuch in 1764–66 he had doubts about the value of such

posts. Still, both his successors in the Chair of Logic at Glasgow had held them. Of course the

discovery of a Whitehaugh tutor among the graduates of, say, 1763–64 would not necessarily

bring us nearer to identifying the note–taker, who may have been another student. Such notes

circulated very widely at the time. Indeed, given the celebrity of this lecturer it is surprising that

the Rhetoric should have turned up so far in only one version. The attempt to match the

handwriting of the manuscript with a signature in the Matriculation Album of the relevant period

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has been thwarted by the depressing uniformity of these signatures; entrants were

calligraphically on their best behaviour.

In the matter of provenance an interesting possibility is opened up by a letter from John Forbes–

Leith to James Beattie, Professor of Moral Philosophy at Marischal College, Aberdeen in 1779

about his family’s library (JML xi, quoting Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland

LXXII, 1938, 252). The Rhetoric is not mentioned, but its subjectmatter lay so much in Beattie’s

field of interest that one is tempted to wonder whether he was in some way instrumental in

acquiring the manuscript. A similar possibility is that Smith’s successor as Professor of Moral

Philosophy in 1764, Thomas Reid, who maintained his contacts with friends in Aberdeen long after

his move to Glasgow, may have obtained the notes and handed them on to Whitehaugh. Reid is

known to have been anxious to see notes of his predecessor’s lectures: ‘I shall be much obliged

to any of you Gentlemen or to any other, who can furnish me with Notes of his Prelections

whether in Morals, Jurisprudence, Police, or in Rhetorick’—so he said in his Inaugural Lecture on

10 October 1764 as preserved in Birkwood MS 2131/4/II in Aberdeen University Library.

The manuscript of the Rhetoric, now Glasgow University Library MS Gen. 95. 1 and 2, is bound in

half–calf (i.e. with leather tips) and marbled boards. In the top three of the six panels of the spine

is incised blind in cursive: ‘Notes of Dr. Smith’s Rhetorick Lectures: Vol. 1st.’ and ‘. . . Vol. 2nd’.

The pages are not numbered; the present edition supplies numbering in the margin. The

gatherings, normally of four leaves each, have been numbered on the top left corner of each first

page, apparently in the same (varying) ink as the text at that point. Volume 1 has 51 gatherings,

of which the 14th is a bifolium, here given the page–numbers 52a, v.52a, 53b, v.53b, to indicate

that it is an insertion. Volume 2 consists of gatherings 52–114; 94 has six leaves; and 74 has a

bifolium of different paper stuck in loosely between the first and second leaves with no break in

the continuity of the text, and a partially erased ‘My Dear Dory’ written vertically on the inner left

page, i.e. ii. v. 90 under the note about Sancho Panca. The pages measure 195 × 118 mm, but

gatherings 1–4 only 168 × 106 mm (of stouter paper than the rest), and 5–15 185 × 115 mm.

The watermark is LVG accompanied by a crown of varying size and a loop below it, and in some

of the gatherings GR under the crown. This is the L. V. Gerrevink paper commonly used

throughout much of the eighteenth century. The chain lines are vertical in all gatherings. The first

page of each of the earlier gatherings is much faded, as though having lain exposed for a time

before the binding was done.

Three hands, here designated A, B, and C, can be distinguished. Hand C, using a dark ink,

appears in only a few places in the earlier pages, and may be that of a later owner of the

manuscript: sometimes merely touching up faded letters. An appreciation of the nature and

authority of the notes depends on an understanding of the activities of scribes A and B, who

(especially A) were responsible for transcribing them from the jottings made in class. The scribal

habits, of which the textual apparatus will furnish the evidence, rule out the possibility that the

pages we have were written while the students listened.

There is an apparent contradiction between two reports of Adam Smith’s attitude to note–taking.

According to his student John Millar, later Professor of Law: ‘From the permission given to

students of taking notes, many observations and opinions contained in these lectures (on

rhetoric) have either been detailed in separate dissertations, or engrossed in general collections,

which have since been given to the public’ (Stewart I. 17). The Gentleman’s Magazine obituary

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(lx. 762) records that ‘the Doctor was in general extremely jealous of the property of his

lectures . . . and, fearful lest they should be transcribed and published, used often to repeat,

when he saw any one taking notes, that “he hated scribblers”.’ The paradox is resolved if we

remember the advice given by Thomas Reid, and by many a university teacher before and since,

that those who write most in class understand least, ‘but those who write at home after carefull

recollection, understand most, and write to the best Purpose’, and that this reflective

reconstruction of what has been heard is precisely what a philosophical discourse requires

(Birkwood MS 2131/8/III). The general success with which our scribes grasped the structure and

tenor of Smith’s course, as well as much of the detail, exemplifies what Reid had in mind. Even

the exasperated admissions of failure—‘I could almost say damn it’, ‘Not a word more can I

remember’ (ii. 38, 44)—confirm the method by which they are working. In some cases the scribe

begins his transcription with a heading which will recall the occasion as well as the matter, as

when he notes that Smith delivered Lectures 21 and 24 ‘without Book’ or ‘sine Libro’; and he is

careful to give Lecture 12, the hinge between the two halves of the course, the title ‘Of

Composition’ because it begins the discussion of the various species of writing.

Our manuscript is the result of a continuous collaboration between two students intent on making

the notes as full and accurate a record of Smith’s words as their combined resources can produce.

The many slips and gaps which remain should not blind us to the great pains taken. Working from

fairly full jottings, Scribe A writes the basic text on the recto pages (except, oddly, i. 18–68 when

he uses the verso pages), and thereafter two kinds of revision take place. He corrects and

expands the text, writing the revision above the line when only a word or two are involved.

Unfortunately the additions of this kind are far too numerous to be specially signalized without

overburdening the textual apparatus, and they have been silently incorporated in the text. In any

case it is impossible to distinguish those added currente calamo from those added later, except of

course where the interlined words replace a deletion (and these are always noted here). When

the addition is too lengthy to be inserted between lines, Scribe A writes them on the facing page

(i.e. a verso page, except at i. 18–68) at the appropriate point, and often keys them in with x or

some other symbol. All such additions on the facing page are, in this edition, enclosed in brace

brackets { }. Scribe A’s sources for his additional materials no doubt varied; some of it was

certainly ‘recollected in tranquillity’ as Reid would have recommended; some of it such a tirelessly

conscientious student would acquire by consultation with a fellow–student, or perhaps one of the

sets of notes in circulation from a previous year. There is reason to think that some of the

material had simply been inadvertently omitted at the first transcription.

The second revision, much less extensive but very useful, is Scribe B’s. Apart from a few

corrections of A’s words, B makes two sorts of contribution. He fills in a good many of the blanks

clearly left by A with this in view—alas, not enough, though he is obviously in many ways better

informed than A. This comes out also in the sometimes substantial notes he writes on the verso

page facing A’s text, with supplementary illustration and explanation of the points there treated.

These are enclosed in { }, with a footnote assigning them to Hand B. They raise the same

question of source as A’s notes. From the fact that B never himself deletes or alters what he has

written and generally arranges his lines so as to end exactly within a certain space, e.g. opposite

the end of a lecture (i. v. 116; ii. v. 18), we may deduce that he is working from a tidy original or

fair copy: another set of notes? The order in which A and B wrote their inserted matter varied: at

i. 46 A’s note is squeezed into space left by B’s, and similarly at ii. v. 30 and elsewhere: but

normally B’s notes are clearly later than A’s, as at i. v. 146, and at ii. v. 101 B’s note is squeezed

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between two of A’s although the second of these was written (in different ink) later than the first.

There is a noticeable falling–off in verso–page notes from about Lecture 16 onwards: inexplicable,

unless Scribe A was becoming more adept in transcription. Certainly the report of the last lecture

is much the longest of them all, but Smith probably, like most lecturers, used more than the hour

this time in order to finish his course. Scribe A relieved the tedium of transcription by occasional

lightheartedness. There is the doodled caricature of a face (meant to resemble Smith’s?) ‘This is a

picture of uncertainty’, at ii. 67: at ii. 166 ‘WFL’, i.e. ‘wait for laugh’, is inserted then deleted; at

ii. 224 the habitual spelling ‘tho’ is for once expanded by the addition of ‘ugh’ below the line. Of

special interest is the added note at i. 196 recording the witticism of ‘Mr Herbert’ about Adam

Smith’s notorious absent–mindedness. The joke about Smith must have been made just after the

lecture and the note added shortly after the transcription in this case.

Henry Herbert (1741–1811), later Baron Porchester and Earl of Carnarvon, was a gentleman–

boarder in Smith’s house throughout the session 1762–3. On 22 February 1763 Smith wrote to

Hume introducing him as ‘very well acquainted with your works’ and anxious to meet Hume in

Edinburgh (Letter 70). Hume (71) found him ‘a very promising young man’, but refers to him on

13 September 1763 (75) as ‘that severe Critic, Mr Herbert’. There is a letter from Herbert to

Smith (74) dated 11 September 1763.

To suggest that Herbert may have been the source of at least some of the additional notes would

be an unwarranted use of Occam’s razor. No one enjoying this degree of familiarity with the

lecturer and consulting him on the content of the lectures would have left so many blanks

unfilled; and Smith would certainly not knowingly have helped to compile notes of his talks. It is

also worth noting that the Rhetoric lectures, unlike those on Jurisprudence etc. (see LJ 14–15),

were not followed by an ‘examination’ hour in which additional points might be picked up.

The well–marked scribal habits of Scribe A point to his having suffered from a defect of eyesight,

some sort of stenopia or tunnelvision. He is prone to various forms of haplography, omission of a

word or syllable which resembled its predecessor: ‘if I may so’ (say omitted), ‘coing’ (coining),

‘possed’ (possessed). He writes ‘on the hand’, adds r to the, and imagines he has written ‘other’.

Angle brackets < > have been used for omissions here supplied. There are frequent repetitions of

word or phrase; these have been enclosed in square brackets [ ]. There are innumerable

instances of anticipation of words or phrases lying ahead: most of these have been corrected by

the scribe when his eye returns to his original jottings. In one case he anticipates a phrase from

the beginning of the following lecture (i. 116, 117), showing that on this occasion he had allowed

a weekend to pass before transcribing Lectures 8 and 9—Friday and Monday, 3 and 6 December.

He often tries to hold in his mind too long a passage, writing words that convey the sense and

having to change them, when on going back to his jottings he finds the proper words. He starts to

write ‘object’ and has to change it to ‘design’. Most of the many overwritten words in the

manuscript are examples of this, and unfortunately it is seldom possible to decipher the original

word; where it is, it has been noted. The scribe’s memory of the drift of Smith’s meaning no

doubt played a part; but here as elsewhere he is eager to record the master’s ipsissima verba. He

frequently reverses the order of words and phrases and restores the proper order by writing

numbers above them.

The aim of the present edition has been to allow the reader to judge for himself the nature of the

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manuscript by presenting it as fully as print will allow; but in the interests of legibility several

compromises have been made. Where the punctuation is erratic or accidental it has been

normalized: e.g. commas separating subject from verb, ‘is’ from its complement, a conjunction

from its clause, and the like. The original paragraphing has been retained where it clearly exists

and is intended. Not all initial capitals have been retained. The scribe usually employs them for

emphasis or to convey an impression of a technical or special use of a word; but in ‘Some’,

‘Same’, ‘Such’, ‘with Regard to’, ‘in Respect to’, ‘for my Part’, ‘for this Reason’, etc., the capital

has been ignored. Frequently used abbreviations have been silently expanded: such are y

(this),

(them), y

(their), y

(than), y

(those), nëyr (neither), oy

(other), Bröy

(Brother), pt

(part), agst (against), figs (figures), dïs (divisions), nomve (nominative), and others of similar

type. It has not been possible to record the many changes of ink, pen, and style of writing (from

copperplate to hurried), though these are no doubt indicative of the circumstances in which Scribe

A was working. The misnumbering of Lecture 5 onwards has been corrected, and noted.

To sum up the textual notation used:

2. THE LECTURES

The notes we have date from what was apparently the fifteenth winter in which Adam Smith

lectured on rhetoric. Disappointed of a travelling tutorship on coming down from Balliol, and after

two years at home in Kirkcaldy in 1746–8, he ‘opened a class for teaching rhetorick at Edinburgh’,

as the obituary in the Gentleman’s Magazine (Aug. 1790, lx. 762) puts it; and it goes on to

remark on an advantage enjoyed by Smith and frequently to be noticed in later years: ‘His

pronunciation and his style were much superior to what could, at that time, be acquired in

Scotland only’. The superiority was often (as by Sir James Mackintosh in introducing the second

edition of the 1755–6 Edinburgh Review in 1818) ascribed to the influence of the speech of his

Glasgow Professor Francis Hutcheson, as well as to his six Oxford years. His awareness of

language as an activity had certainly been sharpened by both experiences of different modes—

differences so often embarrassing to his fellow–countrymen, speakers and writers alike, in the

mid–century. The Edinburgh Review no. 1 named as one of the obstacles to the progress of

science in Scotland ‘the difficulty of a proper expression in a country where there is no standard

of language, or at least one very remote’ (EPS 229); and two years later, on 2 July 1757, Hume

observes in a letter to Gilbert Elliott of Minto (Letter 135, ed. J. Y. T. Greig, 1932) that we ‘are

unhappy, in our Accent and Pronunciation, speak a very corrupt Dialect of the Tongue which we

make use of’. The background of desire for ‘self–improvement’ and the part played by the many

societies in Edinburgh and elsewhere are described in JML xxiii–xxxix, and D. D. McElroy,

{ } notes on page facing main text—‘Hand B’ if relevant

< > omissions supplied conjecturally

[ ] erroneous repetitions

deleted deleted words not replaced above line

replaces: words corrected in line above a deletion

changed from: original word decipherable beneath over–writing

superscript

indicators:

normally refer to the preceding word or words, to which

reference is made.

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Scotland’s Age of Improvement (1969). Smith ‘teaching rhetorick’ in 1748 was the right man at

the right moment.

In the absence of advertisement or notice of the lectures in the Scots Magazine (these would

have been unusual at this time: not so ten years later) we do not know exact dates; but A. F.

Tytler in his Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Honourable Henry Home of Kames, containing

sketches of the Progress of Literature and General Improvement in Scotland during the greater

part of the eighteenth century (1807: i. 190) gives this account:

It was by his [sc. Kames’s] persuasion and encouragement, that Mr Adam Smith, soon

after his return from Oxford, and when he had abandoned all views towards the

Church, for which he had been originally destined, was induced to turn his early studies

to the benefit of the public, by reading a course of Lectures on Rhetoric and the Belles

Lettres. He delivered those lectures at Edinburgh in 1748, and the two following years,

to a respectable auditory, chiefly composed of students in law and theology; till called

to Glasgow. . . .

The ‘auditory’ included Alexander Wedderburn (who edited The Edinburgh Review 1755–6),

William Johnston (who became Sir William Pulteney), James Oswald of Dunnikeir (a boyhood

friend of Smith’s from Kirkcaldy), John Millar, Hugh Blair, ‘and others, who made a distinguished

figure both in the department of literature and in public life’. When on 10 January 1751 Smith

wrote (Letter 8) to the Clerk of Senate at Glasgow accepting appointment to the Chair of Logic

there and explaining that he could not immediately take up his duties because of his

commitments to his ‘friends here’, i.e. in Edinburgh, the plural shows that he had sponsors for his

lectures besides Kames, and it has been supposed that these were James Oswald and Robert

Craigie of Glendoick. There is independent evidence that at least in his last year at Edinburgh if

not earlier he also lectured on jurisprudence; but Tytler is quite clear on the duration of the

rhetoric course; and after Smith’s departure for Glasgow a rhetoric course continued to be given

by Robert Watson till his departure for the Chair of Logic at St Andrews in 1756. This was only the

beginning: one of Smith’s first ‘auditory’, Hugh Blair, on 11 December 1759, began a course on

the same subject in the University of Edinburgh, which conferred the title of Professor on him in

August 1760 and appointed him to a new Chair of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres (destined to become

in effect the first Chair of English Literature in the world) on 7 April 1762. Smith’s original lectures

were presumably delivered in one of the Societies, the Philosophical being the most likely because

since the ’45 its ordinary activities had been suspended, and Kames would have seen the courses

as a way of keeping it alive. In 1737 Colin Maclaurin, Professor of Mathematics (see Astronomy

IV. 58), was instrumental in broadening the Society’s scope to include literature and science.

When Adam Smith arrived in Glasgow in October 1751 to begin teaching as Professor of Logic and

Rhetoric he found his duties augmented owing to the illness of Thomas Craigie, the Professor of

Moral Philosophy, the work of whose classes was to be shared by Smith and three other

professors. We hardly need evidence to prove that, hard–pressed as he was, he would fall back

on his Edinburgh materials, including the Rhetoric, which it was his statutory duty to teach.

Craigie died in November and his Chair was filled by the translation to it of Smith in April 1752.

Throughout the eighteenth century the ordinary or ‘public’ class of Moral Philosophy met at 7.30

a.m. for lectures on ethics, politics, jurisprudence, natural theology, and then at 11 a.m. for an

‘examination’ hour to ensure that the lecture had been understood. A ‘private’ class, sometimes

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called a ‘college’, attended by those who had already in the previous year taken the public class

and were now attending that for the second time—or even third—but not the examination class,

met at noon, normally three days a week. Each professor used the private class for a course on a

subject of special interest to himself. Hutcheson had lectured on Arrian, Antoninus (Marcus

Aurelius), and other Greek philosophers; Thomas Reid on the powers of the mind.

Adam Smith chose for his private class the first subject he had ever taught, Rhetoric and Belles

Lettres. Here a question arises. Rhetoric was now in the domain of his successor in the Chair of

Logic, James Clow. There is no record of a protest from Clow, as there was in Edinburgh from

John Stevenson, who had been teaching logic and rhetoric for thirty–two years when Blair’s Chair

was founded. Several explanations suggest themselves, apart from personal good–will. The

phrase ‘Belles Lettres’, though it did not mollify Stevenson, differentiated in a decisive way the

two Glasgow courses. Clow’s emphasis seems to have rested on rhetorical analysis of passages,

in keeping with the discipline of logic (see JML xxx quoting Edinburgh Univ. Lib. MS DC 8, 13).

More important, at Glasgow a public class was not the offender. In any case Smith’s rhetoric

students had attended Clow’s class two years before, and the opportunity (which Smith knew

they enjoyed) of making correlations can only have been philosophically beneficial. Similar

opportunities were opened by their hearing at the same time—and having already heard—Smith’s

discourses on ethics and jurisprudence. The lectures on history and on judicial eloquence would

be illustrated by those on public and private law. And we must not forget that these students

were simultaneously studying natural philosophy, theoretical and practical, the fifth year subjects

of the Glasgow Arts curriculum. Such juxtapositions were then as now among the great benefits

of the Scottish University system, and without them Scotland would not have made the mark she

did in philosophy in Adam Smith’s century. In particular, Smith’s students must have noted the

multi–faceted relationship between the ethics and rhetoric, in three broad areas. First, Smith

employed many of the general principles stated in TMS in illustrating the different forms of

communication: for example, our admiration for the great (ii. 107 and below, section 4), or for

hardships undergone with firmness and constancy (ii. 100). Smith also drew attention to the

influence of environment on forms and modes of expression (ii. 113–16, 142 ff., 152 ff.) in a

manner which would be familiar to those who had already heard his treatment of the rules of

conduct. Secondly, Smith’s students would note the points at which the rhetoric elaborated on the

discussion of the role of sympathy and the nature of moral judgement and persuasion (cf. TMS I.

i. 3–4; cf. 18–19 below). The character of the man of sensibility is strikingly developed in Lecture

XXX (ii. 234 ff.) while the argument as a whole implies that the spoken discourse could on some

occasions affect moral judgement. Thirdly, Smith’s students would perceive that the arguments

developed in the lectures on rhetoric complement the analysis of TMS, where it is remarked that:

We may judge of the propriety or impropriety of the sentiments of another person by

their correspondence or disagreement with our own, upon two different occasions;

either, first, when the objects which excite them are considered without any peculiar

relation, either to ourselves or to the person whose sentiments we judge of; or,

secondly, when they are considered as peculiarly affecting one or other of us’

(TMS, I.i.4.1).

Objects which lack a peculiar relation include ‘the expression of a picture, the composition of a

discourse . . . all the general subjects of science and taste’.

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Smith’s lecturing timetable is set out in LJ 13–22, with references to the sources of our

information. On the Rhetoric lectures, two accounts by men who had heard them show with what

clarity they were remembered more than thirty years later. The first was given by John Millar,

Professor of Law, who had heard them both in Edinburgh and Glasgow, to Dugald Stewart for a

memoir of Smith to be delivered at the Royal Society of Edinburgh in 1793 (Stewart I. 16):

In the Professorship of Logic, to which Mr. Smith was appointed on his first introduction

into this University, he soon saw the necessity of departing widely from the plan that

had been followed by his predecessors, and of directing the attention of his pupils to

studies of a more interesting and useful nature than the logic and metaphysics of the

schools. Accordingly, after exhibiting a general view of the powers of the mind, and

explaining so much of the ancient logic as was requisite to gratify curiosity with respect

to an artificial method of reasoning, which had once occupied the universal attention of

the learned, he dedicated all the rest of his time to the delivery of a system of rhetoric

and belles–lettres. The best method of explaining and illustrating the various powers of

the human mind, the most useful part of metaphysics, arises from an examination of

the several ways of communicating our thoughts by speech, and from an attention to

the principles of those literary compositions which contribute to persuasion or

entertainment. By these arts, every thing that we perceive or feel, every operation of

our minds, is expressed and delineated in such a manner, that it may be clearly

distinguished and remembered. There is, at the same time, no branch of literature

more suited to youth at their first entrance upon philosophy than this, which lays hold

of their taste and their feelings.

The second report, written after 1776 in a letter from James Wodrow, Library Keeper at the

University of Glasgow from 1750 to 1755, to the Earl of Buchan and preserved in Glasgow Univ.

Lib. Murray Collection (Buchan Correspondence, ii. 171), reads:

Adam Smith delivered a set of admirable lectures on language (not as a grammarian

but as a rhetorician) on the different kinds or characteristics of style suited to different

subjects, simple, nervous, etc., the structure, the natural order, the proper

arrangement of the different members of the sentence etc. He characterised the style

and the genius of some of the best of the ancient writers and poets, but especially

historians, Thucydides, Polybius etc. translating long passages of them, also the style

of the best English classics, Lord Clarendon, Addison, Swift, Pope, etc; and, though his

own didactic style in his last famous book (however suited to the subject) — the style

of the former book was much superior—was certainly not a model for good writing, yet

his remarks and rules given in the lectures I speak of, were the result of a fine taste

and sound judgement, well calculated to be exceedingly useful to young composers, so

that I have often regretted that some part of them has never been published.

With this stricture on the style of WN, incidentally, may be compared the remark made by Lord

Monboddo to Boswell that though Smith came down from Oxford a good Greek and Latin scholar,

from the style of WN ‘one would think that he had never read any of the Writers of Greece or

Rome’ (Boswell, Private Papers, ed. Scott and Pottle, xiii. 92); and even his friends Hume, Millar

and Blair took this view. On the other hand John Ramsay of Ochtertyre (Scotland and Scotsmen

in the eighteenth Century, published 1888, i. 462) thought that in view of the purity and elegance

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with which he ordinarily wrote it was ‘no wonder, then, that his lectures should be regarded as

models of composition’. A kindred activity of Smith’s in his Glasgow days is recorded in the Foulis

Press Papers, extracted by W. J. Duncan in Notes and Documents illustrative of the Literary

History of Glasgow (Maitland Club 1831, 16): in January 1752 he had helped to found a Literary

Society in the University, and ‘he read papers to this society on Taste, Composition and the

History of Philosophy which he had previously delivered while a lecturer on rhetoric in Edinburgh’.

Of these, two were parts I and II of the essay on the Imitative Arts—this on the evidence of John

Millar who was a member of the Society (EPS 172)—an essay which Smith told Reynolds he

intended publishing ‘this winter’, i.e. 1782–3 (Reynolds, letter of 12 September 1782, in

Correspondence of James Boswell, ed. C. N. Fifer, Yale UP 1976, 126).

What modifications the lectures on rhetoric underwent between 1748 and the session in which our

notes were taken it is almost impossible to determine. There are few datable post–1748

references. Macpherson’s Ossian imitations, ‘lately published’ (ii. 113), appeared in 1760, 1762,

1763. Gray’s two Pindaric odes, if the reference at ii. 96 includes them, belong to 1757; the Elegy

in a Country Churchyard, of which Smith became so fond, to 1751; Shenstone’s Pastoral Ballad to

1755. Rousseau’s Discours (i. 19) appeared in 1755 and was discussed by Smith in the Edinburgh

Review no. 2 (EPS 250–4). All of these references, except perhaps the last, could easily have

been inserted without radical revision of the text. The unmistakable reference to Hume’s History

of England at ii. 73, whether we read ‘so’ or (‘10’ in the added marginal note, raises a complex

question. The History appeared in instalments, working backwards chronologically, in 1754, 1757,

1759, and was completed in 1762, after which date the reference becomes relevant. On 12

January 1763 Smith must have read out what had stood in his manuscript for some years, and

then in the last moments of the lecture made an impromptu correction when recollecting a

friend’s very recent publication. Why this afterthought is also recorded by Scribe A in an

afterthought is perhaps not in the circumstances all that mysterious.

The general continuity of the lecture–course from 1748 to 1763, details apart, is established by

its structure and by the set of central principles which inform all twentynine reported lectures and

which could not have been added or superimposed on the argument at some intermediate stage

of its development. Basic to the whole is the division into ‘an examination of the several ways of

communicating our thoughts by speech’ and ‘an attention to the principles of those literary

compositions which contribute to persuasion or entertainment’.

To set this out in summary: first section, linguistic: (a) Language, communication, expression

(Lectures 2–7, i. 85); (b) Style and character (Lectures 7–11).—Second section, the species of

composition: (a) Descriptive (Lectures 12–16); (b) Narrative or historical (Lectures 17–20); (c)

Poetry (Lecture 21); (d) Demonstrative oratory, i.e. panegyric (Lectures 22–23); (e) Didactic or

scientific (Lecture 24); (f) Deliberative oratory (Lectures 25–27); (g) Judicial or forensic oratory

(Lectures 28–30).

Two features of the course enable us to make a plausible guess at the contents of the

introductory lecture—whose absence, by the way, tends to prove that this set of notes was not

prepared with a view to sale. At the heart of Smith’s thinking, his doctrine, and his method of

presentation (the three are always related) is the notion of the chain (see ii. 133 and cf.

Astronomy II. 8–9)—articulated continuity, sequence of relations leading to illumination. Leave no

chasm or gap in the thread: ‘the very notion of a gap makes us uneasy’ (ii. 36). The orator ‘puts

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the whole story into a connected narration’; the great art of an orator is to throw his argument

‘into a sort of a narration, filling up in the manner most suitable . . .’ (ii. 206, 197). The art of

transition is a vital matter (i. 146). Smith is concerned with this on the strategic level just as

contemporary writers on Milton and Thomson were on the imaginative. As a lecturer, giving an

exhibition of the very craft he is discussing, he insists that his listeners know where they have

been and where they are going. Dugald Stewart notes in his Life of Thomas Reid that ‘neither he

nor his immediate predecessor ever published any general prospectus of their respective plans;

nor any heads or outlines to assist their students in tracing the trains of thought which suggested

their various transitions’ (1802: 38–9). In Smith’s case the frequent signposts would have made

such a prospectus superfluous, and readers of the lectures are more likely to complain of being

led by the hand than of bafflement. What all this amounts to is that the opening themephrase

‘Perspicuity of stile’ must have been clearly led up to.

The other habit of Smith’s gives a clue to how this may have been done. He often shows his

impatience with intricate subdivisions and classifications of his subject, such as had long made

rhetoric a notoriously scholastic game. La Bruyère speaks of ‘un beau sermon’ made according to

all the rules of the rhetoricians, with the cognoscenti in the preacher’s audience following with

admiration ‘toutes les énumérations où il se promène’. But though Smith thinks it all very silly

and refers anyone so inclined to read about it in Quintilian, his teacherly conscience compels him

to ensure that his students have heard of the old terms. Lecture 1 no doubt defined the scope of

this course by saying what it was not going to include. At least since the anonymous Rhetorica ad

Herennium early in the first century B.C. the orator’s art had been divided into invention,

arrangement, expression, memory, and delivery; Quintilian’s words (Institutio Oratoria III. iii. 1;

and passim) are inventio, dispositio, elocutio, memoria, and pronuntiatio or actio. Smith in effect

sees only the second and third as important, the third (style) occupying Lectures 2–11, the

second underlying virtually all that Lectures 12–30 discuss.

It is to be hoped that for the sake of clarity one other traditional division was at least mentioned.

As early as i. 12 ‘the didactick stile’ is compared with that of historians and orators, and the

phrase and the comparison occur repeatedly throughout the lectures as if their meaning was

already known. The central place occupied in Smith’s whole conception of discourse by the

‘didactick stile’ becomes clear in the lecture (24) devoted to it, where it emerges as not only a

mode of expression but as a procedure of thought: the scientific (ii. 132–5), that concerned with

the exposition of a system, the clarification of a multitude of phenomena by one known or proved

principle. Perhaps this was too early in the course; but the analogy with music set out in Imitative

Arts II. 29 (see below, section 5) by which many notes are related both to a leading or key–note

and a succession of notes or ‘song’, and the observation that this is like ‘what order and method

are to discourse’, would have proved helpful to the many who, then as later, find it harder to

apprehend pattern in language than in sound or colour. Smith makes things harder by equating,

at i. 152, the ancient (indeed Aristotelian) division of speeches into Demonstrative, Deliberative,

Judicial, with his own philosophical division into narrative, didactic, rhetorical (i. 149). This, it

must be admitted, involves some straining. ‘It is rather reverence for antiquity than any great

regard for the Beauty or usefullness of the thing itself which makes me mention the Antient

divisions of Rhetorick’ (i. 152); but in this case he could have been less scrupulous, since

Quintilian (III. iv) asks ‘why three?’ rather than a score of others. He is echoing Cicero; and Jean–

François Marmontel, author of the literary articles in the Encyclopédie vols 3–7 and Supplément

(collected in Eléments de Littérature, 1787) pours scorn on the terms themselves: Deliberative

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speech, where the orator exerts all his energy to proving to the meeting that there is nothing at

all to deliberate; Demonstrative, which demonstrates nothing but flattery or hatred (and, he

should have added, the orator’s virtuosity—not showing but showing off); Judicial, aiming at

demonstrating, and leaving it all to the judges’ deliberation. In any case Smith in the end does

not scrap the ancient divison but simply adds the Didactic to it: Lectures 22–30.

By chance our notes begin at what Smith thought of first importance: style, language. ‘Nobis

prima sit virtus perspicuitas’ said Quintilian (VIII. ii. 22, echoing Aristotle’s σα ς λέξις, Rhetoric

III. ii. 1), and defined the main ingredient in perspicuity as proprietas, each thing called by its

own, its properly belonging name. The root meaning of perspicuity is the quality of being seen

through, and the subject of Smith’s lectures may be said to be what it is that language allows to

show through it, and how. For Smith there is much more to this transparence than the handing

over of facts or feelings, and the first paragraph introduces some of this. Words are no mere

convenience; they are natives of a community, as citizens are—and as i. 5–6 shows, of a

particular part of the community. The Abbé du Bos devoted I. xxxvii of Réflexions critiques sur la

poésie et sur la peinture (1719) to showing the kind of force the words of our own language have

on our minds. When an English–reading Frenchman meets the word God it is to the word Dieu

and all its associations that his emotions respond.

A more immediate motive for this paragraph can best be indicated by a well–known story about

the poet of the Seasons. After completing his Arts course at Edinburgh, James Thomson’s first

exercise in the Faculty of Divinity was the preparation of a sermon on the Jod section of Psalm

cxix. When he read it to his class on 27 October 1724 it was severely criticised by his professor,

William Hamilton, for its grandiloquence of style, quite unsuitable for any congregation. Thomson,

discouraged, gave up his studies, went off to London, and spent his life writing poems whose

highly Latinate diction has often been remarked on: as was that of his fellow–countrymen in his

own century. The Scoticisms against which Scottish writers were put on their guard, as by Hume

and Beattie, were partly of this kind, and have been attributed to the Latin base of Scots Law as

well as of Scottish education. Hutcheson was the first professor at Glasgow to lecture in English,

and this, quite apart from his teaching, was seen as a help to the students in unlearning their

linguistic tendencies. A. F. Tytler (Kames, i. 163) emphasises the influence of another Scottish

professor in the same direction, that of the Edinburgh mathematician Colin Maclaurin, his ‘pure,

correct and simple style inducing a taste for chasteness of expression . . . a disrelish of affected

ornaments’. Scots youths were encouraged towards ‘an ease and elegance of composition as a

more engaging vehicle for subjects of taste, in the room of the dry scholastic style in which they

had hitherto been treated’. They were ‘attracted to the more pleasing topics of criticism and the

belles lettres. The cultivation of style became an object of study’, replacing the ancient school

dialectics. This, if only Tytler had provided evidence and illustration, would parallel the linguistic

programme of the Royal Society as outlined by Sprat in its History in 1667: ‘this trick of

Metaphors’, ‘those specious Tropes and Figures’, to be replaced by positive expressions ‘bringing

all things as near the Mathematical plainness as they can’.

A much wider context for Smith’s lectures is thus created, though we must not forget the

immediate one suggested by i. 103: ‘We in this country are most of us very sensible that the

perfection of language is very different from that we commonly speak in’. Periodically throughout

the history of style there occur combats between the respective upholders of the plain and the

elaborate: Plato versus the sophist Gorgias; Calvus charging Cicero with ‘Asianic’ writing as

opposed to Attic purity. Smith’s teaching comes at such a moment. While he was a student John

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Constable’s Reflections upon accuracy of style enjoyed something of a vogue. Not published till

1734 (reprinted 1738), this attack on the highly figurative language of Jeremy Collier’s Essays

(1697) had been written in 1701; and in the meantime Collier’s ‘huddle of metaphors’ and

conceits had been sharply criticized in John Oldmixon’s adaptation of the influential La manière de

bien penser dans les ouvrages d’esprit (1687) by Dominique Bouhours—The arts of Logick and

Rhetorick (1728). Behind all of them lies another combat: the Chevalier de Méré’s strictures on

the verbal extravagances of Voiture in De la Justesse (1671), which gave Constable his title.

These oppositions are of many kinds, and all differ from the one Smith sets up between the

lucidity of Swift and the ‘pompousness’ of Shaftesbury—the shaping motive of much of Lectures

7–11. This is perhaps the earliest appreciation of Swift as writer; political and quasi–moral

objections prevented his critical recognition till late in the century. Smith’s admiration rests on

something central in the Rhetoric: ‘All his works show a complete knowledge of his Subject . . .

One who has such a complete knowledge of what he treats will naturally arange it in the most

proper order’ (i. 105–6). Shaftesbury is a dilettante and does not know enough. Above all he has

not kept up with modern scientific advances; he makes up for superficiality and ignorance by

ornament (i. 140–1, 144). That his letters ‘have no marks of the circumstances the writer was in

at the time he wrote. Nor any reflections peculiarly suited to the times and circumstances’ is the

most telling fault. The writing does not belong anywhere or to any one.

It is his criticism of the reverence paid to the figures of speech (whether departures from normal

use of word, figurae verborum; or unusual modes of presentation, figurae sententiarum—Cicero,

Orator xxxix–xl; Quintilian IX. i–iii; Rhetorica ad Herennium Book IV) that leads Smith to his

decisive formulations of beauty of language. ‘When the sentiment of the speaker is expressed in a

neat, clear, plain and clever manner, and the passion or affection he is possessed of and intends,

by sympathy, to communicate to his hearer, is plainly and cleverly hit off, then and then only the

expression has all the force and beauty that language can give it’. Figures of speech may or may

not do the job. See i. 56, 73, 79. ‘The expression ought to be suited to the mind of the author, for

this is chiefly governed by the circumstances he is placed in’. Language is organically related not

merely to thought in the abstract (see section 3 below); it bears ‘the same stamp’ as the

speaker’s nature. Ben Jonson, writing about 1622 (Timber or Discoveries), observed: ‘Language

most shewes a man: speake, that I may see thee. It springs out of the most retired and inmost

parts of us, and is the Image of the Parent of it, the mind. No glasse renders a mans forme or

likeness so true as his speech’.

The discussion of this relationship is introduced by a nice piece of Smithian economy. The

character–sketches of the plain and the simple man not only illustrate two styles and lead on to

Swift and Temple (i. 85–95); they offer the student models of ethologia, the form prescribed

(according to Quintilian I. ix. 3) to pupils in rhetoric as an exercise, and they prepare for the

instruction in character–drawing in Lecture 15 and the discussion of the Character as a genre—

invented by Theophrastus, edited by Isaac Casaubon in 1592, introduced in England by Joseph

Hall in 1608, and practised by La Bruyere, who is Smith’s favourite because his collection is a

microcosm of society and of mankind. When Hugh Blair, as he tells us, was lent the manuscript of

Smith’s lectures (he no doubt remembered hearing this passage) when preparing his own, it was

from these ethologiae that he drew hints: ‘On this head, of the General Characters of Style,

particularly, the Plain and the Simple, and the characters of those English authors who are

classed under them, in this, and the following Lecture, several ideas have been taken from a

manuscript treatise on rhetoric, part of which was shown to me, many years ago, by the learned

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and ingenious author, Dr Adam Smith; and which, it is hoped, will be given by him to the

Public’ (Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, 1783, i. 381). The Theophrastan form influenced

the historians; see the collection Characters of the Seventeenth Century, ed. D. Nichol Smith

(1920). It is significant that the first critic to publish a series of studies of Shakespeare’s

characters, William Richardson, the Glasgow Professor of Humanity from 1773, was a student of

Adam Smith’s; his A philosophical analysis and illustration of some of Shakespeare’s remarkable

characters appeared in 1774, and two more volumes in 1784 and 1788.

Boswell, another student who heard the Rhetoric lectures (in 1759), was struck by Smith’s

emphasis on the personal aspects of writers, and he twice recalled the remark about Milton’s

shoes (absent from our report; it should have come at ii. 107): ‘I remember Dr. Adam Smith, in

his rhetorical lectures at Glasgow, told us he was glad to know that Milton wore latchets in his

shoes, instead of buckles’ (Journal of a tour to the Hebrides §9). ‘I have a pleasure in hearing

every story, tho’ never so little, of so distinguished a Man. I remember Smith took notice of this

pleasure in his lectures upon Rhetoric, and said that he felt it when he read that Milton never

wore buckles but strings in his shoes’ (Boswell Papers i. 107). Such was the training of the future

author of the greatest of all biographies of a man of letters. In no. 1 of the Spectator (1 March

1711) Addison ‘observed, that a Reader seldom peruses a Book with Pleasure ’till he knows

whether the Writer of it be a black or a fair Man, of a mild or cholerick Disposition, Married or a

Batchelor, with other Particulars of a like nature, that conduce very much to the right

Understanding of an Author’. John Harvey included in his Collection of Miscellany Poems and

Letters (1726: 84–88) a parody of this Spectator, with a fictitious life of himself.

Beauty of style, then, is propriety in the exact sense of the word: language which embodies and

exhibits to the reader that distinctive turn and quality of spirit in the author ‘qui lui est propre’, as

Marivaux insisted in the Spectateur français, 8e feuille (8 September 1722). Our pleasure is, as

Hutcheson noted in his Inquiry into the original of our ideas of Beauty and Virtue (1725: I. sec.

IV. vii), in recognizing a perfect correspondence or aptness in a curious mechanism for the

execution of a design. It is characteristic of Smith that his aesthetics should thus centre on

correspondence, relation, affinity. What he finds wrong with Shaftesbury’s style is that he

arbitrarily made it up; it has nothing to do with his own character (i. 137–8). When the principle

is extended from persons to societies—‘all languages . . . are equally ductile and equally

accommodated to all different tempers’—very wide and illuminating prospects open up. Good

examples are Trajan’s Rome as formative background for Tacitus (Lecture 20), the comparison of

Athens and Rome as contexts for Demosthenes and Cicero (Lecture 26), and the association of

the rise of prose with the growth of commerce and wealth (ii. 144 ff.). Indeed the accounts of

historical writing and of the three types of oratory are made the occasions for elaborate excursus

on different kinds of social and political organization, ancient and modern.

‘By sympathy’ (i. v. 56): this phrase in the formulation of the highest beauty language can attain

is one of the very few which Scribe A underlines, and pains had clearly been taken by Smith to

bring out the parallel between his ethical and rhetorical principles. Just as we act under the eye of

an impartial spectator within ourselves, the creation of an imaginative self–projection into an

outsider whose standards and responses we reconstruct by sympathy or ability to feel as he does,

so our language is enabled to communicate our thoughts and ‘affections’ (i.e. inclinations) by our

ability to predict its effect on our hearer. This is what is meant by seeing the Rhetoric and TMS as

two halves of one system, and not merely at occasional points of contact. The connection of

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‘sympathy’ as a rhetorical instrument with the vision of speech and personality as an organic

unity need not be laboured. Again, it should be obvious how often Smith’s concern is with the

sharing of sentiments and attitudes rather than mere ideas or facts. The arts of persuasion are

close to his heart for this reason. The opening of Lecture 11 is a key passage. The conveying to a

hearer of ‘the sentiment, passion or affection with which [his thought] affects him’—‘the

perfection of stile’—is regulated by a ‘Rule, which is equally applicable to conversation and

behaviour as writing’; ‘all the Rules of Criticism and morality when traced to their foundation, turn

out to be some Principles of Common Sence which every one assents to’. One of the most

frequent terms of critical praise in the Rhetoric is ‘interesting’, bearing its original and normal

eighteenth century sense of involving, engaging, as at ii. 27 where, thanks to Livy’s skill, ‘we

enter into all the concerns of the parties’ and are as affected as if we had been there. The reason

why history is enjoyed is that events which befall mankind ‘interest us greatly by the

Sympatheticall affections they raise in us’ (ii. 16). The good historian shows the effects wrought

on those who were actors or spectators of the events (ii. 5; cf. ii. 62–3). Knowledge of the plot of

a tragedy is an advantage since it leaves us ‘free to attend to the Sentiments’ (ii. 30). A variation

on this is acutely described in dealing with the picture of Agamemnon’s sacrifice of Iphigenia, by

Timanthes (ii. 8); cf. i. 180, Addison on St Peter’s. Indeed the entire treatment of the art of

description in Lectures 12–16 is profoundly instructive of Smith’s main interests. Even minutiae

such as the arrangement of words in a sentence (i. v. 42–v. 52b) repay an attention beyond the

merely grammatical.

The species of writing are so intimately bound up with each other that Smith finds it difficult in

Lectures 12–30 to demarcate them sharply. By instinct, as already noted, he is a historian in the

sense that he sees narrative as the very type of human thought–procedure; but his interest in it

is also that suggested by Hume’s description of history’s records as ‘so many collections of

experiments by which the moral philosopher fixes the principles of his science’. (William

Richardson used similar terms about his studies of Shakespeare’s characters in 1784). The first

paper read to the Literary Society in the University, on 6 February 1752, was ‘An essay on

historical composition’ by James Moor, the Professor of Greek (Essays, 1759). Moor’s elaboration

of the kinship of history and poetry, the unified pattern which both exhibit in events, throws

interesting light on the position occupied by Lecture 21 in Smith’s progression. Bolingbroke

compared history and drama; and Voltaire wrote to the Marquis d’Argenson on 26 January 1740

(Correspondence ed. T. Besterman, xxxv. 373): ‘Il faut, dans une histoire, comme dans une pièce

de théâtre, exposition, noeud, et dénouement’. There may be an echo of the ancient assimilation

of history and poetry in ‘the Poeticall method’ of keeping up the connection between events, other

than the causal (ii. 36); and history, like poetry, is said to ‘amuse’ (ii. 62), and to have originated

with the poets. Leonard Welsted expounded this view fully in his Dissertation concerning the

perfection of the English Language (1724). For Quintilian (X. i. 31) a history is a poem: ‘Est enim

proxima poetis et quodammodo carmen solutum’. There was indeed much collocation by the

ancient rhetoricians of all these genres—history, poetry, rhetoric, philosophical exposition—as in

Cicero’s Orator XX. 66–7. The Muses are said to have spoken in Xenophon’s voice (Orator XIX.

62). They are all combined by Fénelon in the educational project he outlined to the French

Academy, first in 1716. That panegyrical eloquence ‘tient un peu de la poésie’ as Voltaire

maintained in the Encyclopédie article on Eloquence is also Smith’s view (ii. 111–2).

The lecture on poetry (21), delivered extemporaneously, is both instructive and disappointing.

The post–Coleridge student looks for more analysis of short poems; these are of little interest,

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naturally, to the philosopher. More important, why does not Smith of all critics tackle the problem

of the pleasure afforded us by tragedy? This is specially strange since Hume, who had offered a

highly ingenious answer in his essay on tragedy in 1757, expressed dissatisfaction with the

treatment of sympathy in this context in TMS I. iii. 1. 9 (Corr. Letter 36, 28 July 1759), and the

second edition of TMS contained a footnote on the question. The insistence in the lecture (ii. 82)

on the tragic writer’s heightening of the painful nature of his story in order to lead to a satisfying

‘catastrophe’ is an oblique solution of the problem and one frequently given: the difference

between suffering on the stage and in real life resides in the artifice of the former. ‘The delight of

tragedy proceeds from our consciousness of fiction’, said Johnson in the Preface to Shakespeare

(1765)—though Burke in 1757 took the opposite view, because ‘we enter into the concerns of

others’. Kames in The Elements of Criticism (1762: I. ii. 1 sec. 7) discusses ‘the emotions caused

by Fiction’. The function of Lecture 21 is to prepare for the arts of persuasion used by the orator,

playing down or exaggerating as the need demands, by describing the similar arts of the good

story–teller. Tragedy and Comedy both arrange events so as to culminate in true conclusiveness.

Note that Smith’s imagination is as tuned to good cadence as is his ear.

That is why he delights in rhyme. Boswell reports that when Johnson was extolling rhyme over

blank verse, ‘I mentioned to him that Dr. Adam Smith, in his lectures upon composition, when I

studied under him in the College of Glasgow, had maintained the same opinion strenuously, and I

repeated some of his arguments’. Johnson had no love for Smith, but—‘had I known that he loved

rhyme as much as you tell me he does, I should have HUGGED him’ (Life of Johnson, ed. Hill–

Powell, i. 427–8). Dugald Stewart associates this bias with Smith’s ascription of our pleasure in

the Imitative Arts (e.g. I. 16, III. 2) to admiration of difficulté surmontée (Stewart III. 14–15).

The phrase is by Antoine Houdar de La Motte in his controversy with Voltaire over Œdipe (1730).

La Motte opposed both the Unities and Rhyme in drama: ‘toutes ces puérilités n’ont d’autre

mérite que celui de la difficulté surmontée’. Both Voltaire and Smith counter this argument by

pointing to the observed triumph over observed obstacles, as a source of our surprised delight in

all the arts, both plastic and literary. Stewart (III. 15) wonders whether Smith’s ‘love of system,

added to his partiality for the French drama’, may have led him to generalize too much in this.

Rhyme is not in fact explicitly mentioned in our manuscript at ii. 74 ff., but it is implicit in couplet

and reference to Pope. Cf. TMS V. i. 7.

‘The principles of dramatic composition had more particularly attracted his attention’ (Stewart III.

15); and though the dogmas about unity of Time and Place had often been attacked since

Corneille’s Discours in 1660—in Farquhar’s Discourse upon Comedy (1702) and Kames’s Elements

of Criticism (1762: chap. xxiii)—it is pleasant to find Smith transferring the question to ‘Unity of

Interest’ (ii. 81). This time he is on La Motte’s side. In the first of his Discours sur la Tragédie

(1730) this is made the supreme law of dramatic art: but, as Smith remarks, the phrase is

susceptible of many interpretations, and it is a little surprising to find him not following La Motte’s

thesis that concentration of the audience’s sympathy on a group of characters—always present,

always acting, animating and vivifying the action of the piece—is what constitutes ‘unité d’intérêt’,

as they are ‘tous dignes que j’entre dans leurs passions’. ‘That every part of the Story should

tend to some one end, whatever that be’ is of course also a typically Smithian formulation.

Beside the remark on Comedy (ii. 82) we must place the full account of the comic at i. 107–

v.116. Smith’s interest in the laughter–provoking (we must remember that that is simply what

the eighteenth century words ridicule and ridiculous mean) was no doubt kindled early by

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Hutcheson, whose criticism of Hobbes’s view—‘the passion of laughter is nothing but sudden glory

arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves’ (Leviathan vi)—first

appeared in the Dublin Journal 10–12 (June 1725), collected as Reflections on Laughter (1750).

Smith’s approach is proper to someone preoccupied with comparison: unexpected incongruities

arising from the aggrandisement of the little (as in mock–heroic) or diminution of the grand. At i.

112 he seems to allude to Leibnitz: ‘All raillery includes a little contempt, and it is not just to try

to make contemptible what does not deserve it’ (Remarks on Shaftesbury’s Characteristicks,

1711; printed in Masson’s Histoire critique de la République des Lettres, 1715). He does not

accept therefore Shaftesbury’s notion of laughter as a ‘test of truth’. For Smith on wit and humour

cf. the review of Johnson’s Dictionary (EPS 240–1).

Johnson would not have ‘hugged’ Smith for his words on tragi–comedy (ii. 83–4). This ‘mixed’

kind, described in Spectator 40 as monstrous, was several times vigorously defended by Johnson

for its truth to life: e.g. Rambler 156 (14 Sept. 1751), as well as the Preface to Shakespeare in

1765.

To one tradition of rhetorical instruction Smith is faithful, in the readiness with which he quotes

poetic examples side by side with prose. At i. 9 he refers to Samuel Clarke’s preface to his edition

of the Iliad (1729) in praise of Homer’s perspicuity—such, says Clarke, that no prose writer has

ever equalled him in this his ‘perpetua et singularis virtus’. Clarke also makes an interesting

distinction between the poet’s ars and his oratio; so in our day Ezra Pound has insisted that

poetry must have the qualities of good prose.

Like that later polymath Coleridge, Adam Smith nursed till his last days the hope of producing a

magnum opus of immense scope. ‘I have likewise two other great works upon the anvil; the one

is a sort of Philosophical History of all the different branches of Literature, of Philosophy, Poetry

and Eloquence’ (the other being his Jurisprudence); ‘The materials of both are in a great measure

collected, and some Part of both is put into tollerable good order’. So he wrote to the Duc de La

Rochefoucauld on 1 Nov. 1785 (Corr., Letter 248). This was no doubt why in 1755, in a paper

read to Cochrane’s Political Economy Club, he gave ‘a pretty long enumeration . . . of certain

leading principles, both political and literary, to which he was anxious to establish his exclusive

right; in order to prevent the possibility of some rival claims . . .’ (Stewart IV. 25). Unfortunately

Stewart does not tell us which ‘literary’ principles were listed. Smith describes the opinions as

having formed the subjects of his lectures since he first taught Mr Craigie’s class ‘down to this

day, without any considerable variation’.

One envies the eighteenth century the freedom and width of vision made possible to them by

their not circumscribing the word literature and narrowing the scope of its study as we have since

done. Our two scribes enable us to glimpse that first work which would have become the

foundation of the tantalizing ‘Philosophical History’ of all literature.

3. CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING THE FIRST FORMATION OF LANGUAGES

It may be worth remembering that the dissertation Adam Smith delivered, as by statute required,

on 16 January 1751 to justify his induction into the Chair of Logic and Rhetoric at the University

of Glasgow was entitled De origine idearum. In the absence of the text of this we cannot know in

what sense idea was used. His first published essay was on a semantic subject. For the first

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number of the Edinburgh Review which he had helped to found in 1755 he chose to review

Johnson’s newly issued Dictionary, and he made his review an exercise in the systematic

distinction and arrangement of the meanings of words: but and humour as examples. He found

Johnson’s treatment insufficiently ‘grammatical’, i.e. philosophically analytic (EPS 232–41) and

offers an alternative plan. There is evidence to support the statement of A. F. Tytler in his

Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Honourable Henry Home of Kames . . . containing

sketches of the Progress and General Improvement in Scotland during the greater part of the

eighteenth century (1807: i. 168) that of all the articles in the two numbers of the magazine this

was the one which attracted most attention—and the implications of Tytler’s long sub–title help us

to understand why. Tytler admits that though Smith’s article ‘displays the same philosophic views

of universal grammar, which distinguish his Essay on the formation of Languages’ his

metaphysical discrimination and ingenuity were less suitable than Johnson’s method ‘for

conveying a critical knowledge of the English language’ (170).

Light is thrown on the beginnings of Smith’s interest in language in a letter which he wrote on 7

February 1763 to George Baird who had sent him an Abstract of An Essay on Grammar as it may

be applied to the English Language (1765) by his friend William Ward. The letter (69), which was

printed by Nichols in Illustrations of the Literary History of the Eighteenth Century (iii, 1818, 515–

16), expresses surprise that Ward, mentioning various definitions of nouns, ‘takes no notice of

that of the Abbé Girard, the author of a book, called, ‘Les vrais Principes de la Langue Françoise’.

. . . It is the book which first set me a thinking upon these subjects, and I have received more

instruction from it than from any other I have yet seen upon them. . . . The grammatical articles,

too, in the French Encyclopedie have given me a good deal of entertainment.’ The comments on

Ward’s design offer a useful introduction to Smith’s own thinking.

I approve greatly of his plan for a Rational Grammar, and I am convinced that a work

of this kind, executed with his abilities and industry, may prove not only the best

system of grammar, but the best system of logic in any language, as well as the best

history of the natural progress of the human mind in forming the most important

abstractions upon which all reasoning depends. . . . If I was to treat the same subject,

I should endeavour to begin with the consideration of verbs; these being, in my

apprehension, the original parts of speech, first invented to express in one word a

complete event: I should then have endeavoured to shew how the subject was divided

from the attribute; and afterwards, how the object was distinguished from both; and in

this manner I should have tried to investigate the origin and use of all the different

parts of speech, and of all their different modifications, considered as necessary to

express all the different qualifications and relations of any single event.

Smith is too modest to say that all this—‘taken in a general view, which is the only view that I

can pretend to have taken of them’—he did in fact set out in an essay published two years earlier,

but, as Stewart tells us (II. 44), he was proud of the ‘considerations concerning the First

Formation of Languages’: ‘It is an essay of great ingenuity, and on which the author himself set a

high value’ and justly—it is a masterpiece of lucid exposition which any summary can only blur.

Stewart’s comments (II. 44–56) are the most perceptive ever made on it. He saw that its value

lies, not in the possible accuracy of the opinions, but in its being a specimen of an entirely

modern kind of inquiry ‘which seems, in a peculiar degree, to have interested Mr Smith’s

curiosity.’ To this Stewart applied the now famous phrase ‘Theoretical or Conjectural History’, and

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he finds examples of it in all Smith’s writings. In the absence of direct evidence, ‘when we are

unable to ascertain how men have actually conducted themselves upon particular occasions’ we

must consider ‘in what manner they are likely to have proceeded, from the principles of their

nature, and the circumstances of their external situation.’ ‘The known principles of human

nature’; ‘the natural succession of inventions and discoveries’; ‘the circumstances of society’—

these are the foundations on which rests Smith’s thinking ‘whatever be the nature of his subject’;

astronomy, politics, economics, literature, language. ‘In most cases, it is of more importance to

ascertain the progress that is most simple, than the progress that is most agreeable to fact; for .

. . the real progress is not always the most natural’ (56). Stewart is stressing the timelessness of

Smith’s argument, which still makes sense even after the birth of comparative philology in 1786

with Sir William Jones’s demonstration before the Royal Asiatic Society of the kinship between

Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, and the Germanic and Celtic languages. Smith instinctively uses the

historical mode for his exposition of principles in this context while exhibiting the powers of the

mind operating in their most fully human and characteristic activity: comparing, classifying,

abstracting. The primacy he gives to language, which entails that something like Lecture 3 must

have come early in his Rhetoric course right from its first delivery, rests on his vision of language

as the embodiment of the mind’s striving towards the ‘metaphysical’, towards conceptualization.

‘Essay’, ‘Dissertation’, ‘Considerations’: the last is the appropriate title, since three (of quite

different kinds) are offered. The first, ‘theoretical history’ proper, has two sections: (a) on nouns,

adjectives and prepositions (1–25); (b) on verbs and pronouns (26–32). That mere chronology is

not Smith’s real concern is shown by his beginning with nouns, although he believes verbs are the

most ancient part of speech, which starts with the presentation of a single undifferentiated event

as in the impersonal verb. He does so because the inflectional systems of the noun are well

adapted to exhibiting his analysis of the process of abstraction: from classes of things, to

modification by quality, gender, number, and relationship—and even within relationships, a

hierarchy or range of degrees of the metaphysical, there Smith’s vision of the organic connection

between thinking and speaking becomes clear. No one will attribute to him the naive notion that

early man first conceived the relations by, with, or from, and then invented the device of adding –

o or –e to the root of the noun to express them. Language and thought are generated together,

as d’Alembert maintained in the ‘Discours préliminaire’ to the Encyclopédie in 1751. He too had

learned from the Abbé Gabriel Girard’s Les vrais principes de la langue françoise, ou la parole

réduite en méthode conformément aux lois de l’usage (1747) to see ‘parts of speech’, not as dead

terms in school grammar, but as operations of the human intellect, and ‘grammar’ itself as the

image of logic. Girard’s book is a perfect example of the beautiful unity and harmony he finds in

the linguistic works of the spirit.

The second Consideration (33–40) moves from conjectural to actual history: the breakdown of

the inflectional system which results from peoples of different tongue living together and being

defeated by the intricacies (as they see them) of each other’s speech–structures: the Germanic

Lombards confronted with Latin, or (Smith might have added) the invading Norse–speakers

meeting the English. The simplification in question can be observed by anyone listening to a

foreigner wrestling with his elementary English. ‘Elementary’ is the right word, speech reduced to

its elements, all verb–forms reduced to the infinitive. Something comparable produces the various

kinds of pidgin and creole throughout the world.

The third Consideration (41–45) is an assessment of the damage wrought by this breakdown:

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modern analytic languages are, as compared with earlier synthetic ones, more prolix (since a

multiplicity of words must replace the old inflections), less agreeable to the ear (lacking the

pleasing symmetries and variety of the inflections), and more rigid in their possibilities of word–

ordering (differences of case–endings make for flexibility in arrangement without ambiguity).

Most of the many mid–eighteenth century investigators of the beginnings of language are

interested in more superficial senses of the word ‘origin’: fruitless searches for a reason why a

particular sound was ever chosen to denote a particular thing or idea, as in the Traité de la

formation méchanique des langues et des principes physiques de l’étymologie (1765) by Charles

de Brosses, parts of which were in circulation from 1751 and found their way into articles in the

Encyclopédie; or speculations on ‘universal grammar’ and the causes of differences among

languages, like the Hermes of James Harris (1751). How simplemindedly Smith’s highly original

essay could be read is illustrated by the widely known Elements of general knowledge (1802),

lectures which Henry Kett had been delivering since 1790: how did Adam Smith’s two incredible

savages ever get into the situation in which he imagines them inventing speech? (i. 88–9). Kett is

put down by the percipient L. Davison in ‘Some account of a recent work entitled Elements of

General Knowledge’ (1804: ii. 87–88), who sees that Smith assumes language and is interested

simply in how it proceeds.

Smith’s connection with The Philological Miscellany (1761) in which his essay first appeared is

obscure. An anonymous contributor to The European Magazine, and London Review for April 1802

(xli. 249), writing from Oxford on 10 April 1802, after a reference to an article on Smith in the

previous issue and high praise for the review of Johnson’s Dictionary, goes on: ‘in 1761 was

published, I believe by Dr. Smith, “The Philological Miscellany” ’, and in it Dr. Smith’s

‘Considerations concerning the first Formation of Languages’ first appeared. No authority for

attributing the volume to Smith is given; and what in any case is meant—the compiling, or the

translating of the French articles? Smith’s essay is the only one to be first published here. The

others are almost all from the Mémoires of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres,

apparently specially translated for this collection of papers on historical, classical and

miscellaneous learned questions, such as Smith showed an interest in, in his letter to the

Edinburgh Review no. 2, 1756 (EPS 242–54). The editor of the Miscellany ‘proposes to enrich his

Work with a variety of Articles from the French Encyclopedie, and with curious Dissertations on

Philological Subjects by foreign writers.’ But no further volumes appeared.

Note on the Text

In Adam Smith’s lifetime five authorized editions of this essay were published, for which the sigla

PM, 3, 4, 5, 6 are here used:

[PM]

Academy of | B

ELLES LETTRES at PARIS, and | other foreign ACADEMIES. | TRANSLATED into ENGLISH. |

WITH | ORIGINAL PIECES by the most Eminent | WRITERS of our own Country. | VOL. I. | [double

rule] | Printed for the E

DITOR; | And Sold by T. BECKETT and P. A. DEHONDT, | in the Strand. 1761.

| (8vo: pp. viii + 510).

Pp. 440–79 contains: Considerations concerning the first formation of Languages, and the

different genius of original and compounded Languages. By Adam Smith, Professor of Moral

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Philosophy in the University of Glasgow. Now first published.—The Table of Contents lists the

essay in the same words. This volume, the only one of a projected twice–yearly series to appear,

was published in May 1761. The British Library copy has on its fly–leaf the note: ‘Presented by

Becket Oct.

9. 1761.’

ANGUAGES. | By ADAM SMITH, L.L.D. | THE THIRD EDITION. | . . MDCCLXVII.—The essay is on pp.

437–78, headed and listed in Table of Contents as in PM, but omitting ‘By . . . published’.

While this edition of TMS was going through the press in winter 1766–67 Smith wrote to his

publisher William Strahan:

The Dissertation upon the Origin of Languages is to be printed at the end of Theory.

There are some literal errors in the printed copy of it which I should have been glad to

have corrected, but have not the opportunity, as I have no copy by me. They are of no

great consequenc<e>

(Letter 100).

Seven verbal changes were nevertheless made in the text. Smith, it may be noted, here gives the

essay the same title as do the title–pages of the early editions of TMS, and as Dugald Stewart in

his Account of the Life and Writings of Adam Smith, I. 26, II. 44 (see EPS).

[4]

THE | THEORY | OF | MORAL SENTIMENTS. | [as 3] THE FOURTH EDITION . . . MDCCLXXIV. The essay

is on pp. 437–76, headed as in 3.

[5]

THE | THEORY | OF | MORAL SENTIMENTS. | [as 3] THE FIFTH EDITION . . . MDCCLXXXI. The essay is

on pp. 437–78, headed as in 3.

[6]

THE | THEORY | OF | MORAL SENTIMENTS. | [as 3] THE SIXTH EDITION . . . MDCCXC. The essay is

on pp. 403–62 of vol. ii.

The present text is that of 1790, the last for which Smith was responsible. He had worked long on

the ‘considerable additions and corrections’ now included in the Theory. An account of the early

editions, and of Smith’s carefulness over proof correction in general, is given in the introduction

to TMS in the present edition: especially 47–9. The ‘Considerations’ remained entirely unchanged

in substance throughout their five editions, and only a selection of variants from before 1790

need be recorded.

4–6 replace in lower case the initial capitals which PM and 3 consistently give the following words:

Philosopher, Grammarians, Adjective, Schoolmen, Green (§4), Nouns, Metaphysics, Masculine,

Feminine, Neutral, Genders, Substantive, Termination, Prepositions, Superiority, Inferiority,

Genitive, Dative, Arbor (§§13 ff.), Grammar, Languages, Nominative, Accusative, Vocative,

Cases, Variations, Declensions, Numbers, Conjugations, Verb, Logicians, Citizen, Optative, Mood,

Future, Aorist, Preterit, Tenses, Passive, Participle, Infinitives, Law, Court, Verse, Prose (in the

order of first occurrence).

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4–6 replace with what we should regard as ‘modern’ forms the following spellings in PM and 3:

concret, antient, accompanyment, surprized, forestal, compleat, indispensible, acquireable.

In the matter of punctuation, only students of eighteenth century typographical usage (or whim)

will be interested in omissions and insertions of commas in intermediate editions, and they will

consult the original texts. In no case is the meaning affected by these variations, though the

delivery of an elocutionist declaiming the text might be. No logical or grammatical principle can

be seen to be uniformly dictating the many changes from edition to edition. On the whole 4–6

agree as against PM and 3; but six of 3’s changes of PM are reversed by 6 and/or 4, 5. Only

variants involving points heavier than comma are here recorded. We cannot know how many are

authorial.

The seventh edition (1792) follows 6 in capitals, spelling, italics, and generally in punctuation.

The other early editions have not been collated. They include: 1777 (Dublin: title–page ‘the sixth

edition’), 1793 (Basel), 1797 (8th), 1801 (9th), 1804 (10th), 1808 (Edinburgh: title–page ‘the

eleventh edition’), 1809 (Glasgow: title–page ‘the twelfth edition’), 1812 (11th), 1813

(Edinburgh). In The Works of Adam Smith vol. v (1811) the ‘Considerations’ are on pp. 3–48,

printed as in 6. They are included in Smith’s Essays (1869, 1880). A French translation by

A.M.H.B.[oulard], Considérations sur la première formation des langues, et le différent génie des

langues originales et composées, was published in Paris in 1796; also one appended to the third

French translation of the TMS: Théorie des sentimens moraux, trans. from ed. 7 by Sophie de

Grouchy, Marquise de Condorcet (1798, revd. 1830): ‘Considérations sur l’origine et la formation

des langues’, ii. 264–310.

4. RHETORIC AND LITERARY CRITICISM

A student of the traditional rhetoric who reads the present work as he runs (or—as Smith would

put it—‘one partly asleep’), may possibly as he encounters familiar topics, concepts and

terminology, conclude that this is the well–worn old story: a story so often in the past a dreary

one. Smith in speaking of the many systems of rhetoric both ancient and modern observed that

they were generally ‘a very silly set of books and not at all instructive’ (i. v. 59). Such a reader

will have missed the motive which gives unity and direction to the lectures and the framework of

thought which transforms the old discipline; above all he will be ignoring the delight which

informs the whole and its details.

Steele remarked early in the century that ‘it is a very good service one man renders another

when he tells him the manner of his being pleased’. Smith began lecturing at a time when the

study of rhetoric was turning increasingly, especially in Scotland, to the study of taste. Hugh Blair

opens the Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres which he first delivered in 1759 by summing up

their twofold aim: ‘Whatever enables genius to execute well, will enable taste to criticise justly’.

Smith was a natural teacher of literature. One of his students, William Richardson, in a life of

Archibald Arthur who later occupied the Glasgow Chair of Moral Philosophy (and who had himself

studied under Smith), records: ‘Those who received instruction from Dr. Smith, will recollect, with

much satisfaction, many of these incidental and digressive illustrations, and even discussions, not

only in morality, but in criticism, which were delivered by him with animated and extemporaneous

eloquence, as they were suggested in the course of question and answer’ (Arthur, Discourses on

Theological and Literary Subjects, 1803: 507–8). Richardson’s words, though in the first instance

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about Smith’s ‘examination’ hour, are known to be true of his lecturing in general; and it is

significant that in the account of the lectures on rhetoric which follows (515), ‘taste’ is the first

topic to be mentioned, before ‘composition’. Arthur himself followed Smith’s method ‘and treated

of fine–writing, the principles of criticism, and the pleasures of the imagination . . . intended by

him to unfold and elucidate those processes of invention, that structure of language, and system

of arrangement, which are the objects of genuine taste’. Double evidence, in effect, of Smith’s

attitude to the first subject he had chosen to teach. George Jardine, another student of Smith’s

who, as Professor of Logic and Rhetoric at Glasgow from 1787, continued to teach along the lines

his master had laid down, likewise concentrated on ‘the principles of taste and criticism’. Thomas

Reid, writing about 1791 in the Statistical Account of Scotland (vol. 21, 1799 735), describe

Jardine’s current practice thus: after dealing briefly with the art of reasoning and its history, he

dedicates the greater part of his time to an illustration of the various mental

operations, as they are expressed by the several modifications of speech and writing;

which leads him to deliver a system of lectures on general grammar, rhetoric, and

belles lettres. This course, accompanied with suitable exercises and specimens, on the

part of the students, is properly placed at the entrance to philosophy: no subjects are

likely to be more interesting to young minds, at a time when their taste and feelings

are beginning to open, and have naturally disposed them to the reading of such

authors as are necessary to supply them with facts and materials for beginning and

carrying on the important habits of reflection and investigation.

It is significant that accounts of the tradition in rhetorical teaching acknowledged as stemming

from Adam Smith so often dwell on the ‘taste and feelings’ of the students.

The title ‘Rhetoric and Belles Lettres’, which presumably (though we do not know) was Smith’s

own choice to describe his course, seems to go back to Charles Rollin’s appointment to the Chair

of Rhetoric at the Collège Royal in Paris in 1688. Rollin’s lectures were published in 1726–8 as De

la manière d’enseigner et d’étudier les Belles–lettres, par raport à l’esprit et au coeur—later

changed to Traité des études. Apart from the suggestions of the subtitle the book cannot be

shown to have taught Smith anything in the field of criticism. He needed no one else’s instruction

on l’esprit et le coeur.

His pleasure as a critic is in several ways that of a philosopher. He is stimulated by prose and

poetry which clearly reveal the author, and his eye (and ear) are made attentive by the

conception he has worked out of the relation between the writer and the man. Theories, as Pater

saw, are useful as ‘points of view, instruments of criticism which may help us to gather up what

might otherwise pass unregarded by us’. Rhetoric had, at least since the first century

BC, always

been taught with copious illustrations from writers, and students had been trained by exercises in

the close analysis of texts. The opening paragraphs of Biographia Literaria show how lively, and

fruitful, this tradition still was in Coleridge’s schooldays. For Smith there is no separation between

the two instructions, in handling language and in the enjoyment of that handling by the masters

of the crafts. As we might have predicted, his most characteristic method is the comparative, the

pin–pointing of an author’s essential quality by putting his work alongside that of a practitioner in

the same field or a kindred one: Demosthenes and Cicero, Clarendon and Burnet. This method,

used systematically over a great range of examples, is his most distinctive contribution to the

literary criticism of his age—especially when we remember that the values he invokes in his

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judgements are, not narrowly technical, but comprehensively human and humane—common–

sense, to use his own word. In English criticism only Dryden, e.g. in the Essay of Dramatic Poesy

and the Preface to the Fables, had so far used comparison in an extensive and self–conscious

way. Smith certainly knew the examples in the rhetorical treatises of Dionysius of Halicarnassus

(Demosthenes with Thucydides, Plato with Demosthenes, Isaeus with Lysias, etc.) and in

Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria Book X; but perhaps his immediate model was the series of

comparisons of ancient writers published by René Rapin in 1664–81.

This was the age of collections of The Beauties of . . . Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Poetry, and so

on. Many of Smith’s lectures must have delighted their audience by sounding like some such

judiciously selected anthologies. He read extensively from the texts in class, often in his own

translation (an art he took great pleasure in and found instructive in its own right: Stewart I. 9):

hence the variation in length in the reported lectures. The immense popularity of these lectures

was the result of their offering the spectacle of Smith’s suppleness in moving easily over the

whole field of ancient and modern writing and of his inventiveness in making illuminating

connections.

If we cannot number Adam Smith among the greatest critics, we need not fall into the ill–temper

expressed by Wordsworth in a footnote to his Essay Supplementary to the Preface (1815); on the

notion ‘that there are no fixed principles in human nature for this art [the admiration of poetry] to

rest upon’, he adds: ‘This opinion seems actually to have been entertained by Adam Smith, the

worst critic, David Hume not excepted, that Scotland, a soil to which this sort of weed seems

natural, has produced’. The premise of this remark is so mistaken, and the quantity of Smith’s

literary criticism in the printed works, especially TMS and EPS, so fragmentary and scanty, that

the violence of Wordsworth’s language is difficult to explain. A clue occurs in a letter he wrote to

John Wilson in June 1802, commenting on the offence given to ‘many fine ladies’ by supposedly

indelicate or gross expressions in certain of the Lyrical Ballads (The Mad Mother and The Thorn),

‘and as in the instance of Adam Smith, who, we are told, could not endure the ballad of Clym of

the Clough, because the author had not written like a gentleman’ (Early Letters, 1935, 296). This

is a clear reference to the interview by Amicus with Smith printed in Appendix 1. The article was

reprinted in The European Magazine for August 1791 (xx. 133–6), in The Whitehall Evening Post,

and thence (with misprints and omissions) in a miscellany of essays dating from the sixteenth to

the late eighteenth centuries entitled Occasional Essays on Various Subjects, chiefly Political and

Historical (1809). The editorship of this last is ascribed by the B.L. Catalogue to the lawyer and

mathematician Francis Maseres, the ‘Baron Maseres’ of Lamb’s essay on the Inner Temple, i.e.

Cursitor Baron of Exchequer. The identity of Amicus is unknown. He has been wrongly said to be

Adam Smith’s old student David Steuart Erskine, later 11th Earl of Buchan (1742–1829), who in

fact, under his pen–name Ascanius, criticised the article of Amicus in The Bee of 8 June 1791 (iii.

166 f.): ‘I knew him too well to think he would have liked to have had a pisgah view of such

frivolous matters obtruded on the learned world after his death’—yet he goes on: ‘He had no ear

for music, nor any perception of the sublime or beautiful in composition, either in poetry or

language of any kind. He was too much of a geometrician to have much taste.’ Only if we think

the notorious and flamboyant eccentricity of Lord Buchan extended to writing an article under one

pseudonym in order to condemn it under another can we accept him as Smith’s ‘friendly’

interviewer. In any case he collected all his Bee articles for 4 May 1791 to 25 December 1793 in

The anonymous and fugitive essays of The Earl of Buchan, vol. 1 (1812) so that, as the preface

explains, ‘no person may hereafter ascribe to him any others than are by him, in this manner,

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avowed, described, or enumerated’. So all we know of ‘Amicus’ is that, as the ‘we’ of his defence

of Allan Ramsay shows, he was a Scot. As to Lord Buchan, though he had his own odd ways of

showing his regard for ‘the reputation of my excellent preceptor and amiable friend’ and recalled

‘having had the happiness to live long and much with him’, the regard was genuine, and in some

remarks on literary immortality he groups together Homer, Thucydides, Shakespeare, Adam

Smith (Essays as above, 213, 246–7, from The Bee, 29 May 1793 and 27 June 1792

respectively). Incidentally, his denial to Smith of a ‘perception of the sublime’ would have been

rebutted by Edmund Burke (who had just written a book on The Sublime and the Beautiful): on

10 Sept. 1759 he wrote to Smith praising the ‘lively and elegant’ style of TMS and adding ‘it is

often sublime too, particularly in that fine Picture of the Stoic Philosophy towards the end of your

first part which is dressed out in all the grandeur and pomp that becomes that magnificent

delusion’ (Corr. Letter 38).

Despite the introductory assurance of authenticity by the editor of The Bee, Dr. James Anderson,

who had himself known Smith, the moral propriety of reprinting yet again the gossip of Amicus

may rightly be questioned. John Ramsay of Ochtertyre, writing at the beginning of the nineteenth

century in Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century (1888: i. 468) remarks that Smith’s

table–talk would be precious, ‘but the scraps of it published in the Bee do no honour either to his

memory or the discretion of his friends’. Dugald Stewart (V. 15) contrasts the opinions which ‘in

the thoughtlessness and confidence of his social hours, he was accustomed to hazard on books,

and on questions of speculation’, though having much truth and ingenuity in them, with ‘those

qualified conclusions that we admire in his writings’; and what he said as the fancy or the humour

took him, ‘when retailed by those who only saw him occasionally, suggested false and

contradictory ideas of his real sentiments’. But the Amicus piece has often been quoted (see Rae,

Life, 365–71). Smith himself seems to approve of curiosity about the great—‘The smallest

circumstances, the most minute transactions of a great man are sought after with eagerness.

Everything that is created with Grandeur seems to be important. We watch the sayings and catch

the apothegms of the great ones with which we are infinitely pleased and are fond of every

opportunity of using them . . .’ (LRBL ii. 107). We are after all publishing lectures which Smith

died believing he had saved from publication as not in a worthy state. Of course (there is a

difference) these had in one sense been ‘published’. In 1896 Edwin Cannan sought to justify the

publication of the Lectures on Jurisprudence by quoting Smith’s own words about the limits on

testamentary provisions. In LJ (A) i. 165–6 they run: ‘. . . we should permit the dying person to

dispose of his goods as far as he sees, that is, to settle how it shall be divided amongst those who

are alive at the same time with him. For these it may be conjectured he may have contracted

some affection. . . . But persons who are not born he can have no affection for. The utmost

stretch of our piety can not reasonably extend to them.’ Mutatis mutandis Smith’s suppressions

need not inhibit us. Johnson’s remark in Rambler 60 is not inopportune: ‘If we owe regard to the

memory of the dead, there is yet more respect to be paid to knowledge, to virtue, and to truth’.

5. SYSTEM AND AESTHETICS

On 9 July 1764 Boswell wrote from Berlin to Isabella de Zuylen (Zélide): ‘Mr. Smith whose moral

sentiments you admire so much, wrote to me sometime ago, “your great fault is acting upon

system”, what a curious reproof to a young man from a grave philosopher’. The letter opens: ‘. . .

You know I am a man of form, a man who says to himself, Thus will I act, and acts

accordingly’ (Letters, ed. C. B. Tinker, 1924, 46). In the absence of Adam Smith’s letter (strange,

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considering what mountains of paper Boswell preserved) we cannot tell with what irony he wrote

to his former student; but the incident draws attention to the two uses in the eighteenth century

of the word and the concept ‘system’. While Smith was giving these lectures two of the most

powerful critiques of the idea appeared: in the wittiest and subtlest of all such attacks, Tristram

Shandy (1759–67), Sterne presents a hapless philosopher–father’s attempts to make his son’s

upbringing conform to theory, the Shandean system—the form of the novel itself criticises the

notion of rigid form; and in 1759 Voltaire produced, in Candide, a demolition of the optimistic

scheme of the universe, a series of disastrous frustrations of the illusion that all is for the best in

the best of all possible worlds. Marivaux is fond of pillorying ‘les faiseurs de systèmes’ (e.g. in

Lettres au Mercure, May 1718 etc.), who are what ‘le vulgaire’ call ‘philosophers’; and

Shaftesbury had already in 1711 (Characteristics: Misc. III. ii) defined a formal philosopher as a

‘system–writer’. ‘System–monger’ comes in about the same time. On 27 Sept. 1748 we find Lord

Chesterfield advising his son to ‘read and hear, for your amusement, ingenious systems, nice

questions, subtilely agitated with all the refinements that warm imaginations suggest’, and less

sardonically he complains: ‘The preposterous notions of a systematical man who does not know

the world tire the patience of a man who does’. Cf. Stewart’s (V. 15) ‘too systematical’ of Smith;

and the ‘man of system’ apt ‘to be very wise in his own conceit’, in TMS, VI. ii. 2. 17.

‘System’ in the good sense is exemplified by Johnson’s defence of The Wealth of Nations against

Sir John Pringle’s charge that Smith was not equipped to write such a work since he had never

taken part in trade: ‘. . . there is nothing which requires more to be illustrated by philosophy than

trade does’ (Boswell, Life of Johnson, ed. Hill–Powell, ii. 430). Another example, used by James

Wodrow in a letter to the Earl of Buchan (Glasgow Univ. Lib., Murray MS 506, 169) is the

comparison of Smith’s accounting for the principal phenomena in the moral world from the one

general principle of sympathy, with ‘that of gravity in the natural world’. Still another is set out by

Smith in a letter (30, dated 4 April 1759) to Lord Shelburne on the course of study his son Lord

Fitzmaurice should pursue in his future years at Glasgow, after completing his Philosophical

studies. He should, says Smith, attend the lectures of the Professor of Civil Law, as the best

preparation for the study of English Law even though Civil Law has no authority in the English

Courts:

The civil law is digested into a more regular system than the English Law has yet been,

and tho’ the Principles of the former are in many respects different from those of the

latter, yet there are many principles common to both, and one who has studied the

civil law at least knows what a system of law is, what parts it consist of, and how these

ought to be arranged: so that when he afterwards comes to study the law of any other

country which is not so well digested, he carries at least the Idea of a System in his

head and knows to what part of it he ought to refer everything that he reads.

Compare this with the motive underlying the system of meanings laid out in the review of

Johnson’s Dictionary (EPS 232–41).

That something more than mere tidiness and intellectual coherence is involved for Smith is

illustrated by a passage in Imitative Arts (II. 30, cf. section 2, above):

A well–composed concerto of instrumental Music, by the number and variety of the

instruments, by the variety of the parts which are performed by them, and the perfect

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concord or correspondence of all these different parts; by the exact harmony or

coincidence of all the different sounds which are heard at the same time, and by that

happy variety of measure which regulates the succession of those which are heard at

different times, presents an object so agreeable, so great, so various, and so

interesting, that alone, and without suggesting any other object, either by imitation or

otherwise, it can occupy, and as it were fill up, completely the whole capacity of the

mind, so as to leave no part of its attention vacant for thinking of any thing else. In the

contemplation of that immense variety of agreeable and melodious sounds, arranged

and digested, both in their coincidence and in their succession, into so complete and

regular a system, the mind in reality enjoys not only a very great sensual, but a very

high intellectual, pleasure, not unlike that which it derives from the contemplation of a

great system in any other science.

In other words, to watch the explanation of a great diversity and multiplicity of phenomena from

a single general principle is to be confronted with beauty: ‘the beauty of a systematical

arrangement of different observations connected by a few common principles’ (WN V. i. f. 25; cf.

EPS, 13 ff). We remember that Smith’s dominant interests while a student at Glasgow under

Professor Robert Simson (Stewart, I. 7) were mathematics and natural philosophy; this is where

he learned ‘the idea of a system’—as set out in Astronomy IV. 19.

The issue is most clearly stated in LRBL (ii. 132–4), in the lecture (24) on scientific and

philosophical exposition, the ‘didacticall’ method. One may either explain phenomena piecemeal,

using a new principle for each as it is encountered, e.g. the ‘System of Husbandry’ presented in

Virgil’s Georgics following Aristotle’s procedure; ‘or in the manner of Sir Isaac Newton we may lay

down certain principles known or proved in the beginning, from whence we account for the

severall Phenomena, connecting all together by the same chain’. This enchaînement (the

favourite term among French thinkers of the time) is in every branch of study—ethics, physics,

criticism—‘vastly more ingenious and for that reason more engaging than the other. It gives us a

pleasure to see the phaenomena which we reckoned the most unaccountable all deduced from

some principle (commonly a wellknown one) and all united in one chain, far superior to what we

feel from the unconnected method. . . .’ (Cf. TMS, VII. ii. 2. 14).

The task Smith set himself in the Rhetoric was to substitute a ‘Newtonian’ (or Cartesian, cf. ii.

134), a philosophical and ‘engaging’ explanation of beauty in writing, for the old rigmarole about

figures of speech and of thought, ‘topics’ of argument, subdivisions of discourse, characters of

style and the rest. In this sense his lectures constitute an anti–rhetoric; and though they could

not by themselves rescue the word rhetoric, or for that matter the phrases belles lettres and

polite literature, from the bad press they suffered from, they exerted a profound and

revolutionary influence which has still not been properly investigated, on Hugh Blair, Kames,

William Richardson, George Campbell, and those they in turn taught.

‘There is no art whatever that hath so close a connection with all the faculties and powers of the

mind as eloquence, or the art of speaking.’ So George Campbell introduces The Philosophy of

Rhetoric in 1776. To come closer to describing Smith’s central informing principle, the

formulations of two French writers whose work he knew well may help. ‘Le style est l’homme

même’. This famous and generally misunderstood remark was made by the naturalist Buffon on

his admission to the French Academy in 1753, in what came to be called his Discours sur le style.

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He is contrasting the inert facts of unanimated knowledge with what language does to them. ‘Ces

choses sont hors de l’homme’ they are non–human. But utter them, and how you utter them, is

‘very man’, ‘man himself’. From a different angle Marivaux, in Le Spectateur français of 8

September 1722 (Huitième feuille), attacks the notion that you must write in the manner of this

or that ancient or modern author, and aims ‘prouver qu’écrire naturellement, qu’être naturel n’est

pas écrire dans le goût de tel Ancien ni de tel Moderne, n’est pas se mouler sur personne quant à

la forme de ses idées, mais au contraire, se ressembler fidèlement à soi–même . . . rester dans la

singularité d’esprit qui nous est échué. . . .’ Be like yourself: it was a lesson, Smith believed, the

much admired Shaftesbury had never learned.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

Adam Smith’s life and thought:

John Rae: Life of Adam Smith (1895). Reprinted with ‘Guide to John Rae’s Life of Adam Smith’ by

J. Viner (1965).

William R. Scott: Adam Smith as Student and Professor (1937; reprinted 1965).

R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner: Adam Smith (1982).

A. S. Skinner: A System of Social Science, Papers relating to Adam Smith (1979).

T. D. Campbell: Adam Smith’s Science of Morals (1971).

The Rhetoric:

W. S. Howell: Eighteenth–Century British Logic and Rhetoric (1971). The section on Smith, first

published in 1969, was reprinted in Essays on Adam Smith, ed. Andrew S. Skinner and Thomas

Wilson (1975).

V. M. Bevilacqua: ‘Adam Smith’s Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres’ (Studies in Scottish

Literature, 3 (1965), 41–60). See also Modern Language Review, 63 (1968).

For J. M. Lothian’s edition, see Abbreviations.

R. Salvucci: ‘La retorica come teoria della comunicazione’ [on A.S.] Sociologia della

comunicazione, 1 (1982). See also R. Salvucci, Sviluppi della problematica del linguaggio nel

XVIII secolo: Condillac, Rousseau, Smith (1982).

A. S. Skinner: ‘Adam Smith: Rhetoric and the Communication of Ideas’ in Methodological

Controversy in Economics: Historical Essays, A. W. Coats ed. (1983).

Languages:

Articles on ‘Considerations’ by C. J. Berry and S. K. Land in Journal of the History of Ideas—

respectively 35 (1974), 130–8; and 38 (1977), 677–90.

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LECTURES ON RHETORIC AND BELLES LETTRES.

DELIVERED IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW BY ADAM SMITH

REPORTED BY A STUDENT IN 1762–3

LECTURE 2

Friday. Nov.

Perspicuity of stile requires not only that the expressions

we use should be free from all

ambiguity proceeding from synonimous words but that the

words should be natives if I

may <say> so of the language we speak in. Foreigners though they may signify the

same thing never convey the idea with such strength as those we are acquainted with

and whose origin we can trace.—We may see an instance of this in the word Unfold; a

good old English word derived from an English Root; and consequently its meaning must

be easily perceived

. This word however has within these few years been most

unaccountably thrust out of common use by a French word of not half the strength or

significance, to wit Develope.

This word tho of the same signification | with unfold can

never convey the idea so strongly to an English reader. {In the same manner unravell is

thrown out to make room for Explicate

.} The words of another Language may however

be naturalized by time and be as familiar to us as those which are originally our own,

and may then be used with as great freedom; but here liquewise we may see the effect

of the words being well known to us or not; for instance, the words unsufferable and

intollerable which are both borrowed of the Latin language and compounded of words of

the same meaning are of very unequall strength. The reason is that the word

Untollerable has not been so long introduced amongst us and therefore does not carry

the same power along with it. We say that the cruelty and oppress<ion> | of a tyrant is

unsufferable, but the heat of a summers day is untollerable. Insufferable

expresses our

emotion and indignation at the behaviour of the Tyrant, whereas intollerable

means

only that their is some difficulty and uneasiness in supporting the heat of the Sun.

The English language perhaps needs our care in this respect more than any other. New

words are continually pushing out our own originall ones; so that the stock of our own is

now become but very small and is still diminishing. This perhaps is owing to a

defect

which our language labours much under, of being compounded of a great number of

others. | {No author has been more attentive to this point than Swift; we may say his

language is more English than any other writer that we have.} Most terms of art and

most compounded words are borrowed from other languages, so that the lower sort of

People, and those who are not acquainted with those languages from whence they are

taken

can hardly understand many of the words of their own tongue. Hence it is that

we see this sort of people are continually using these words in meanings altogether

foreign to their proper ones

. The Greeks used compounded words but then they were

formed from words of their own language; by this means their language was so plain

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that the meanest person would perfectly understand the terms of art and expressions of

any | artist or philosopher. The word Triangle would not be understood by an

Englishman who had not learned Latin, but an Italian would at the first understand their

triangulo or a Dutchman their thrienuik.

Our words must not only be English and agreable to the custom of the country but

likewise to the custom of some particular part

of the nation. This part undoubtedly is

formed of the men of rank and breeding. The easiness of those persons behaviour is so

agreable and taking that

whatever is connected with it pleases us. {It is commonly said

also that in France and England the conversation of the Ladies is the best standar<d> of

Language, as there is a certain delicacy and agreableness

in their behaviour and adress,

and in generall we find that whatever is agreable makes what accompanies it have the

deeper impression and convey the notion of agreableness along with.} For this reason

we love both their dress and their manner of language. On the other hand many words

as well as | gestures or peculiarities of dress give us an idea of some thing mean and

Low in those in whom we find them. Hence it is that words equally expressive and more

commonly used would appear very absurd if used in common conversation by one in the

character of a gentleman. Thus perhaps 9/10 of the people of England say, Is’e dot,

instead of I will do it, but no gentleman would use

that expression without the

imputation of vulgarity. We may indeed naturally expect that the better sort will often

exceed the vulgar in the propriety of their language but where there is no such

excellence we are apt to prefer those in use amongst them, by the association we form

betwixt their words and the behaviour | we admire in them. It is the custom

of the

people that forms what we call propri<e>ty, and the custom of the better sort from

whence the rules of purity of stile are to be drawn. {As those of the higher rank

generally frequent the court, the standard of our language is therefore chiefly to be met

with there

. In countries therefore which are divided into a number of sovereignties we

cannot expe<c>t to meet with any generall standard, as the better sort are scattered

into different places

. Accordingly we find that in Greece and Modern Italy each State

sticks by its own dialect without yielding the preference to any other, even though

superior in other respects as the Athenians were.}

Our words must

also be put in such order that the meaning of the sentence shall

quite plain and not depend on the accuracy of the printer in placing the points, or of the

readers

in laying the emphasis on any certain word

. Mr. Pope often errs in both these

respects; as 1

In that line, Born but to die, and reasoning but to err.

The sense of

this line is very different in these two cases, when we put the accent in both members

on but, or in the one on born and in the other on Reasoning. | {The former I imagine

was Mr Pope’s own meaning tho Mr Warburton gives it a different turn. But if that had

been Mr Popes meaning

Mr Pope had more properly have used though for but and then

there had been no ambiguity, though the line would not have been so strong as in the

way it stands at present if taken in the common and apparent meaning} |

We have an

example of the latter sort, when it is not easy to know what member of the sentence a

word belongs to in this line

eat

aste

deat

god

ado

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Here we will find the meaning

altogether different if we place the pause before or after

the word death.

{We may here observe that it is almost always improper to

place and in the beginning

of a member of a

sentence, tho it may be some times tho rarely proper to begin a

sentence in that manner, and then there is no danger of ambiguity.}

Another ambiguity also to be avoided is that where it is difficult to know what verb the

nominative case belongs to, or what noun an adjective agrees with. The Antient

languages were much more liable to this ambiguity than the modern ones, as they

admitted of a greater freedom in the arrangement of the words. As an example | of this

we take that line of Juvenal, Nobilitas sola atque unica Virtus,

where the ambiguity is

owing to the not distinguishing whether sola agrees with virtus or Nobilitas.

This line

may serve as an instance of the ambiguity proceeding from the Verb not being

ascertain’d to belong to one substant<ive> more than

another:

In this alone beasts do the men excel

where one would be apt to think the author meant that the beasts excelled men <in>

this alone, whereas the conterary is certainly the meaning. — — —

{The best authors very seldom fall into this error, as Thucidides, Xenophon and severall

others; nay Dr Clerk

says he has found but one instance in all Homer. This indeed may

be turned in very different ways; but as the rest is so exact this one probably proceeds

from the error of some transcriber

; It is

wonderfull no more errors of this sort have

crept in during so long a tract of time, and may serve to shew the surprising

accuracy

of that writer.

Mr Waller again is a remarkable instance of the defect of this quality, and as he pays

very little regard to grammaticall rules his sense is sometimes hardly to be come at, tho

this method will often serve to discover the meaning of other obscure writers. The

characterists

are extremely free from this, and would be the book most easily

construd.}

A naturall order of expression free of parentheses and superfluous words is likewise a

great help | towards perspicuity; In this consists what we call easy writing which makes

the sense of the author flow naturally upon our mind without our being obliged to hunt

backwards and forwards in order to find it. {When there are no words that are

superfluous but all tend to express something by themselves which was not said before

and in a plain manner

, we may call it precision; tho this word is often taken to mean a

stiff and affected stile such as that [as that] of Prim

and others of the puritan writers.}

Bolingbroke especially

and Swift have excelled most in this respect

; accordingly we

find that their writings are so plain that one half asleep may carry the sense along with

him, {even tho the sentence be very long

, as in that in the end of his essay on

virt

}

if we h

app

en t

r tw

the rest

f the senten<c>e is s

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naturally connected with it as that it comes into our mind of its own accord.

| On the other hand Writers who do not observe this rule often become so obscure that

their meaning is not to be discovered without great attention and being altogether

awake. Shaftesbury sometimes runs into this error by endeavouring to throw a great

deal together before us

Writings of this sort have a great deal of the air of translations from an other language,

where a certain stiffness of expression and repetition of synonymous words is very apt

to be gone into.

Short sentences are generally more perspicuous than long ones as they are more easily

comprehended | in one view; but when we intend to study conciseness we should avoid

the unconnected way of writing which we are then very apt to run into, and at the same

time is of all

the most obscure. The reason of this is that when we study short

sentences we are apt also to throw out the connecting words and render our

expressions concise as well as our sentences. But precision and a close adherence to a

just expression are very consistent with a long sentence, and a short sentence may very

possibly. want both. Sallust, Tacitus and Thucydides are the most remarkable in this |

way; and it is proper to observe that concise expressions and short turned periods are

proper only for historians who narrate facts barely as they are, or those who write in the

didactick stile. The 3 historians we mention’d are accordingly the chief

who have

followed this manner of writing. It is

very improper for Orators or publick speakers, as

there design is to rouse the passions, which are not affected by a plain simple stile, but

require the attacks

of strong and perhaps exagerated expressions. No didactick writer

has invariably adhered to this stile tho it be proper | to them, unless Aristotle, who

never once deviates from it in his whole works, whereas others often run out into

oratoricall declamation.

What are generally called ornaments or flowers in language, as allegoricall,

metaphoricall and such like expressions are very apt to make ones stile dark and

perplex’d. Studying much to vary the expression leads one also frequently into a

dungeon of metaphorical

obscurity. The Lord Shaftesbury is of all authors I know the

most liable to this error. In the third volume of his works,

talking of meditating and

reflecting within one–self he contrives an innu|merable number of names for it each

more dark than another as, Self conversation, forming a plurality in the same person

etc. In an other place he says that his head was the dupe of his heart, where another

would have said that he was so intent on obtaining a certain

that he could not help

thinking he would obtain it. But it is plain this author had it greatly in view to go out of

the common road in his writings and to dignify his stile by never using common phrases

or even names for things, and we see hardly any expression in his works | but what

would appear absurd in common conversation. To such a length does he carry this that

he wont even call men by their own names. Moses is the Jewish lawgiver, Xenophon the

young warrior, Plato the Philo<sopher> of noble birt<h>; and in his treatise

written

expressly to prove the being of God he never almost uses that word but the supreme

being or mind, or he that knows all things etc.

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{The frequent use of Pronouns is also not agreable to perspicuity, as it makes <us>

look to what they refer to: They are however proper where the noun whose place they

supply is not the chief or emphaticall one in the sentence. But in that case the repetition

of the word itself gives greater strength and energy to the sentence.}

We might here insist on this as well as proper variation of the form of a sentence and

how far our language could admit of it; but this as | well as many other grammaticall

parts we must altogether pass over as taedious and unentertaining, and proceed to give

an estimate of our own language compared with others. In order to this it will be proper

to premise somewhat with regard to the origin and design of language in the

gen<erall>.

ENDNOTES

[

] replaces word

[

] MS they, y deleted and words written above

[

] MS perceived

[1 ] OED gives these dates of first use in the relevant senses: develop, 1742; explicate,

1628; insufferable, 1533, but unsufferable, 1340; intolerable, 1435, and as an intensive

(like awful or terrible), 1544. Smith is a sensitive witness to a contemporary trend or

fashion; but his distinction between insufferable and intolerable is not clearly confirmed

by OED; it is a deduction from suffer and support.

[

] after for Hand B(?) supplied Develope, which Hand C deleted and replaced with

perhaps Explicate in dark ink

[

] replaces The one

[

] replaces the other

[

] replaces one

[

] must be at a great loss deleted

[

] proper ones replaces own

[2 ] No doubt a Scot’s mishearing (for ‘three–corner’) of driehoek.

[

] part added by Hand C in margin

[

] it carries alon deleted

[

] ness added by Hand C

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[

] replaces say

[

] replaces common use

[

] original order to be . . . chiefly changed by numbers written above

[

] last four words replace divided and do not live better

[

] only be free deleted

[

] shall added by Hand C above line

[

] original order reader or of the printer changed by numbers written above

[

] MS words, s deleted

[3 ]

Essay on Man, ii.10. Cf. Smith’s discussion of but in his review of Johnson’s

Dictionary, §3 (EPS 236–8).

[

] last eight words replace in which case

[

v–v

] line across page, and catch–phrase We have an to lead in p. 8; rest of v.7

consists of the interpolation We may . . . ambiguity, keyed in on p. 8 by marginal We

may after death

[4 ]

Essay on Man, i.92; Pope wrote ‘teacher Death’.

[

] the meaning added above line by Hand C (?)

[

] begin a sentence with deleted

[

] changed from the by Hand C

[ ]

[[see note

v–v

above]]

[5 ] viii.20; Juvenal wrote ‘sola est atque . . . .

[

] of inserted above line: sc. Juvenal

[

] more than replaces or

[6 ] Not traced.

[7 ]

The philosopher Samuel Clarke (1675–1729) edited the Iliad in 1729.

[

] and deleted

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[

] more deleted

[

] is before surprising, instances of the after it, both deleted

[8 ]

This might refer to writers of ‘Characters’ (see Introduction, p. 17), but is probably

an error for Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (1711), the collection of

treatises by Anthony Ashley Cooper, 3rd Earl of Shaftesbury (1671–1713), so often

discussed by Smith.

[

] last five words written upwards in margin replace and no part any decorant (?

deliberate) trope

[9 ]

William Prynne (1600–69), Puritan author of Histrio–Mastix (1633) and some

twenty politico–legal works; cf. ii.253 below.

[

] lines above and below especially perhaps intend its placing after and

[

] and deleted

[

] tho the sentence be very long written above line, deleted, and written on opposite

page

[10 ] Not Bolingbroke but Shaftesbury: An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit (1699;

Treatise iv in Characteristicks, 1711).

[

] Short sentences are for the most deleted

[

] others deleted

[

] in that way deleted (or? this)

[

] very im replaces not

[

] replaces aid

[

] written above, with a long line under it

[11 ] Soliloquy or Advice to an Author, parts I and III (1710; Treatise iii in

Characteristicks, 1711; cf. Miscellany iv, chap. 1, in Miscellaneous Reflections, i.e.

Treatise vi).

[

] blank of five letters in MS

[12 ]

A Letter Concerning Enthusiasm, sections iv–v (1708; Treatise i in

Characteristicks, 1711); cf. Inquiry Concerning Virtue, Bk I. p iii).

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LECTURE 3

Monday Nov. 22

Mr. Smith

OF THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGE

It seems probable that those words which denote certain substances which exist, and

which we call substantives, would be amongst the first contrived by persons who were

inventing a language. Two Savages who met together and took up their dwelling in the

same place would very soon endeavour to get signs to denote those objects which most

frequently occurred and with which they were most concerned. The cave they lodged in,

the tree from whence they got their food, or the fountain from whence they drank,

would all soon be distinguished by particular names, | as they would have frequent

occasion to make their thoughts about these known to

one another, and would by

mutual consent agree on certain signs whereby this might be accomplished.

Afterwards when they met with other trees, caves, and fountains concerning which they

would have occasion to converse, they would

naturally give the same name to them as

they had before given to other objects of the same kind. The association of ideas

betwixt the caves, trees, etc. and the words they had denoted them by would naturally

suggest that those things which were of the same sort might be denoted |

by the same

words. Thus it might perhaps be that those words which origin[in]ally signifyed singular

objects came to be Special names to certain classes of things. [As our Savages made

farther advances they would have occasion not only for names to the severall

substances near them but also for words to express the relations betwixt those severall

objects.]

These names however as the objects multiplied would not be sufficient to distinguish

them accurately from one another: they would therefore be necessitated to have

recourse to their peculiar relations or qualities. These are commonly expressed by

prepositions or adjectives. | This is what chiefly difficults Mr Rousseay

to wit, to

explain how generall names were 1

formed, as they require abstract thought and what

is called generallization, before they can be formd according to his way of thinking:

Which he thinks me[a]n at first hardly capable of.

| Thus they might express a certain

tree by saying the tree above the cave. But those expressed by prepositions would not

go any great length: they would then call in that [the] of the adjectives, and thus they

might say, the Green tree, to denote one that was Green from one that was not. The

invention of adjectives would have required a much greater degree of exertion than that

of substantives, for these following reasons. The quality denoted by an adjective is

never seen in the abstract, but is always concreted with some substance or other, and

the word signifying such a quality must be formed | from it by a good deal of abstract

reflection; besides this quality

is not seen in any generall set of things, tho it is a

generall quality, but must be at first formed from some singular object. For this reason

we may imagine those adjectives would be formed before any of the substantives

denoting the abstract[i] qualities of those bodies to which the adjectives are applied.

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Thus Green would be formed before Greeness, as the quality tho abstract in itself is

seldom

considered but when concreted with some substances realy existing and

perceived in some singular one before us, whereas the quality abstracted from any body

is never seen | but is only formed by abstraction and generalization from those bodies

where they are found. It is also necessary before such adjectives be formed that those

who form them have seen other things of the same kind which have them not. Thus the

word Green if it was originally formed from the colour of a tree would not have been

formed if there were no trees of a different colour. But when there were other trees

found of another colour, they might call such a tree, a green tree; and from thence

other trees, and afterwards other things of that colour might get | appellation. From

thence too, the quality of greeness would at length be formed by farther abstraction.

When there is so much abstraction required to form those adjectives that denote

colours, which are the most simple of all, it is plain there would be

much greater in

forming more complex and general ones.

But whatever difficulty there might be in the formation of adjectives, there must be still

more in forming prepositions. For that which is signified by them is not found in any one

particular set of things but is common to all those in a certain relation. Thus above

denotes the relation | of superiority, below that of inferiority, with regard to anything in

that relation. It is not concreted with any other thing but is of itself originally abstract.

We may say a green tree, or any thing else is green, but above is connected with the

relation that two things bear to one another. It happens too that those prepositions

which necessarily most frequently occur are those that are most abstracted and

metaphysicall. There is none of which such frequent use is made as of the preposition

Of; which at the same time is the most abstract of the whole number of | them all. It

denotes

no particular relation betwixt the things it connects but barely signifies that

there is a relation. And if we were to ask an ordinary man what he meant by the word

Of he might be allowed at least a weak to consider of it. We may see the generall

signification of it from the various and conterary relations it is used to express as

betwixt the whole and its

parts. Thus we may say the son of the father <or the father>

of the son; the fir tree of the forest or the forest of the fir trees: Other prepositions can

not be used so generally, when we say the tree above the cave and the cave above the

tree, | but this cannot be said with regard to the same thing.

When such is the difficulty of forming these prepositions, which are so very requisite, it

was naturall for the contrivers of language, whom we are not to suppose very abstract

philosophers, would contrive some method to

answer these purposes by a more easy

method. That which was most naturall and obvious and that which we find was the case

in all the primitive and simple languages, is to express

by various modifications of the

same word what would otherwise require a preposition. This they | have done by

varying the termination of the substantive; the different prepositions whose place was

thus supplied gave occasion to the differen<t> cases and according as fewer or more of

them were thus supplied the cases would be more or less in number in different

languages, in some 5, 6 or in others ten.

The agreableness of the same sound repeated or love of Rythme

made them suit their

adjectives to the terminations of the suitable substantives and hence it came to pass

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that all the adjectives were declined in the same manner as the substantives, tho the

signification is noway altered; as, Malus

, Mali, Malorum, Malis | etc., all signify evil and

are varied only to make them suit the substantiv<e>s, as Equus, Equi, Equorum, Equis

etc.

As all animalls are of some sex and other things of none and it was requisite to have a

distinction in this respect, and the quality in the abstract being not easily

comprehended, they rectified this by making another sort of a change in the noun of

one sex: hence Equus, Equa: and as those of another quality had no sex they formed

here another sort which denoted those of neither of the other two qualities. For the

same reason as they suited the adjectives to the declension of cases so also | they

would to that of gender, and hence Equus bonus, Equa bona, pratum bonum.

As more objects than one of the same sort occurred it was necessary to distinguish

betwixt the singular person and those cases where there were more than <one>

together; and as abstract numbers are also of difficult comprehension they here likewise

invented another variation to denote number, hence the singular, duall and plural

number. {The original languages have all the duall as the Hebrew and Sclavonic.} To

this de<c>lension or variety also they accomodated their adjectives for the same reason

that we before menti|oned. Hence came Equus, Equi, and νηρ, νερε, νερες, and to

these the adjectives, bonus, boni, and γαθος, γαθω γαθοι.

Hence we may see how complext their declensions must have become. The substantive

nouns declined thro 5 cases in 3 numbers will have 15 varieties, and the adjectives

having besides 3 genders will have 45.

Besides these various parts they would have occasion for some words to describe or

express certain actions. Every thing we say is either affirming or denying something and

to do this some other | master sort of word was necessary and this was the reason of

the invention of verbs, for without no one thing could be expressed. Hence probably

verbs of the impersonall form would be the first invented of any, as they would express

a whole sentiment or assertion in this way. So Pluit, Ningit are compleat assertions. The

savages we supposed together might for instance use the word venit to express the

coming of some terrible animall as a Lion, which they expressed compleatly in one word.

Afterwards other beasts coming they would naturally use the same | word to give the

alarm. So this word would come to signify some terrible beast, then any frightfull object

and last<l>y any approach in the abstract. For the same reasons as they invented

number and person in nouns they would in the verbs as

a greater or less number might

be coming. According to the time different variations would also be made. {They might

indeed have used the same word for different tenses had they known the pronouns, but

these were not invented in the early times we are talking of, as too abstract. The

different words made for different things of the same origin is like the forming of the

letters. The first writer would probably use a different

character for each

word but this

would soon be troublesome and occasion some other contrivance; so different flexions

of words would be also invented.}

In this complex state languages would probably have continued had it not been for the

mixture of different nations. The only thing that could have had any effect | was this so

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great complexity which would make them at a loss and might run them into

improprieties of grammar; and so we see the Greeks and Romans were forced to

instruct their children in the

grammar of their own tongue. But the chief cause of the

declension from this custom was the intermixture of different nations.

When two

nations thus met, when <one> was at a loss to express himself in the other language

he would be led to supply this defect in.

| some easy manner. The most obvious is that

of the substantive and possessive verbs. The substantive verbs sum with the passive

participle would supply all the passive voice, and the auxiliary or rather possessive

habeo would by a stranger with the help of the supine be made to supply the whole of

the active. The prepositions would be put also in the place of the declensions of

nouns.—A Lombard

when he had forgot amor for I am loved, would say ego sum

amatus, A citizen of Rom<e>, civis de Roma. For I have loved, Ego hab<e>o amatum, |

instead of

amavi.

These mixtures the more they are multiplied the more the language would lose of its

complexness and be supplied in this manner. The simpler the language the more

complex. The Greek seems to be very originall as all the primitives are only about 300.

The Latin formed of it and the Tuscan is complex but much less so. The French, of the

Latin and the native of the country, still less; and the English less still, being formed

from the French and the Saxon. The languages | in this have made advances a good

deal similar to those in the constructions of machines. They at first are vastly complex

but gradually the different parts are more connected and supplied by one another. But

the advantage does not equally correspond. The simpler the machine the better, but the

simpler the language

the less it will have variety and harmony of sound and the less it

will be capable of various arrangement: and lastly it will be more prolix.

ENDNOTES

[1 ] A more elaborate version of this lecture was published in The Philological

Miscellany (1761) as ‘Considerations concerning the first formation of Languages, and

the different genius of original and compounded Languages’. See p. 201.

[

] their deleted

[

] replaces might be

[

] From v.18 to v.60 the main text is generally on the verso page

[

] replaces particular

[

] As . . . . . objects cancelled by oblique strokes

[2 ]

See note on Rousseau, p. 205.

[

] rest of page blank

[

] MS abstraction, ion deleted

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[

] must be deleted

[

] replaces never

[

] a deleted

[

] nor written above, then deleted

[

] MS it is

[

] replaces do this (or? these)

[

] what deleted

[

] the t wrongly inserted later

[

] mala, malum deleted

[

] perso deleted

[

] a different replaces but an

[

] replaces one

[

] elements of deleted

[

] These who are most simple are all most complex. Thus deleted

[

] 32 and v.32 blank

[

] would deleted

[

] ego deleted

[

] replaces machine

[

] 35 and 36 blank

LECTURE 4

Wedinsday Nov. 24

As such great defects have been unavoidably introduced into the English Language by

the very manner of its formation, it will be proper to consider how far and by what

means they have been remedied.

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The first of those defects which comes to be considered is the prolixity necessarily

attending a Language which has so few flexions in its Nouns and Verbs. To remedy this,

many contractions have been made

in the words themselves. The e which formerly

made the finall syllable of the 3

person

of all our verbs has been universally

throw<n> out where it possibly could, and in many cases where it had been better

retain’d, as in Judged; but the generall rule is followd.

Most of our own native words

consist [consist] of but one or two or at most three syllables. There are fewer of one |

than in any other language whatever. {The Italian and French are compounded of

Simple Languages but into the composition of the English there enters a language

already compounded viz. the French.}

When we borrow from other language<s> words

of more syllables, they are

shortend by the manner of pronunciation. This is very

remarkable in the words refractory, concupiscence: and

of other words too where this

cannot be done, we fairly strike off one half, as in Plenipotentiary, Incognito, which in

the mouths of some would sound plenipo, Incog.

The pronunciation of

sentences is likewise shortend in the same manner, by throwing

the accent as near the beginning as possible, which makes it much sooner pronounced.

This method lies exactly conterary to that in use in the French Language, where the

accent both in words and periods is thrown on to the last sylable | or the concluding

word. The former is what seems most likely to produce a melodious sound as it is a

known rule in Musick that the first note of a bar, or the first pitch of any note that is to

be repeated with a uniform accent should be sharpest. Whereas the manner of the

French pronounciation makes the sentence continually more and more precipitate till at

last it breaks of short. | {From this contrariety we may see the reason why a French

man will never be able to speak English with the proper accent, nor an English man

French if the habit be confirmed by time. To shew that the English manner of

pronouncing a sentence, high at first and lower in the end, we need only observe that it

is the manner in which all those speak who have a cant or whine whether in reading,

preaching or crying oysters or broken bellows, the first is allways the high note and the

last part dies away and is hardly felt.}

The Melody of sound has likewise been attended to in many respects. The harsh and

uncouth gutturalls which so much prevailed have been allmost entirely laid aside:

thought, wrought, taught, are now pronounced as if there was no gutturall in them.—

Ch, which was sometime ago pronounced

as the greek Χ, is | now pronounced either

as when it ends a word[s] as in charming, change, etc. or as Κ in character, chimera.

The finall syllable ed which has a sound nearly as harsh as eth is now laid aside as often

as possible, and even sometimes when <it> had better been continued; but when

common use which has the supreme determination in these matters has determined

otherwise, ’tis vain to stand out.

Eth as we just now mentioned is softened into s; loveth to loves, willeth to wills. This

change however is still faulty as it encreases the hissing of the language

, already very

remarkable as most of the pronouns and plurall nouns end in the letter S. But tho the

sound may not be altogether harmonious, yet it is much better than the other, which as

well as ed ap|proaches nearly to a whisper and dies away to nothing.

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| {The frequent use of the letter S and the hissing thereby occasion’d is commonly

ascribed to the defect of a musicall ear in the English nation. But this does not seem to

be the case

. The introduction of it here is of reall advantage; and besides their is no

reason to think there is any defect in the point of a musicall ear. For there is as generall

a good taste for musick in England as in any other nation unless the Italians, and what

is still of more weight no nation attends more to a musicall pronounciation, as is

hereafter to be observed.

Some authors

indeed have wrote constantly eth and ed, as Swift and Bolinbroke

, but if

they were now to read their own works

they would undoubtedly read flows, brings,

avowd, | which are certainly smarter words than floweth, bringeth, avowed, the

pronounciation of our more deliberate and sober ancestors.

In order also to curtail the Phrases we omitt prefixing the Particles to every word, as in

translating the Tittle of the Abbee du Bos’s Book,

yet this sure is the accurate method

and that without which we are exposed to ambiguity. It is thus that we write in Publick

Monuments etc. Here again the Generall rule betrays us into an Error.}

| Besides these alterations on the pronunciation of the consonants, there are severall

attempts to remedy the harshness of the language in the pronunciation of the vowels

and dipthongs, which are indeed but very few. The first vowel a is softened into the

same sound as in other[s] nations is given to the greek η, unless in a few words where

it would be dissagreable as in Walk, Talk. The 2

vowel E is sounded as other nations do

the 3

i, which in the english has a different sound when it is long and when it is short;

in the first case it is sound<ed> as a Diphthong, as in idol, and in the latter has the

same as they give E, as in intelligible. The 5

vowel u has also 2 sounds, in one case it

is pronounced as the diphthong iu, as in muse, pronounced as eu in Eugen, and in |

other cases it has the same sound as in other languages, as in undone.

The diphthongs

also have their full strength, and are sound<ed> stronger than in any other languages,

as in Faith, mourn etc.

But what has a greater effect on the sound of the Language than all the rest is the

harmonious and sonorous pronunciation peculiar to the English nation. There is a certain

ringing in their manner of speaking which foreigners can never attain. Hence it is that

this language which when spoke by the natives is allowed to be very melodious and

agreable, in the mouths of strangers is strangely harsh and grating. {The English have

been led into all these practices without thinking of them to remedy the Naturall

harshness of their Language, which they have effected}

| I proceed next to make some observations on the arrangement of words, which will

naturally lead

to the consideration of what I call stile.

A Period is a set of words expressing a compleat sense without the help of any other.

The members of a period are those phrases which make up that sense, and may

frequently have

a sense of their own, compleat enough without the other and only

referring to it by some word or two.

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In every

member there are generally three principall parts or terms | {because every

Judgement of the humane mind must comprehend two Ideas between which we declare

that relation subsists or does not subsist}

; concer<ning>

Two of these we affirm some

thing or other, and the third connects them together and expresses the affirmation. One

of these is that which is the chief part or subject of the member | and is therefore called

the subjective term; the middle one which connects the extremes is called the

Attributive

, and the other of whom the assertion is made is called the objective

, as of

inferiour rank to the former one. These three must generally be placed in the order we

have mentioned as otherwise the meaning of the sentence would become ambiguous. It

is also to be observed that in sentences expressed by neuter [neuter] verbs their is no

adjective

, it is when the verb is active that the term can be used. In Imperative

and

Interogative expressions the order of the terms is also different.—Besides these terms

there <are> other two which frequently occur {tho not necessary to constitute a perfect

Member of a Period or Phrase}

and denote the <one> how far, and the other in what

circumstances, | the proposition expressed by the

three forementiond terms is to be

understood. The former is called the terminative and the latter the circumstantiall. Tho

the other three are a good deal limited in their order, yet these are hardly at all

confined, but may be placed in all most any way that one inclines.

The only remaining terms are the conjunctive and the adjunctive. The conjunctive is

that which connects the different terms of a sentence or period together. The adjunctive

again points out what particular opinion the speaker has of it, the person to whom it is

adressed, and such like. {The adjunctive is that which expresses the Habit of the

Speakers mind with regard to what he speaks off or the sentiment it excites, as, tis

strange, alas, etc. Sir is an adjunctive which denotes your adressing yourself to a

particular person; all Interjections are adjunctives.}

These being the constituent parts of any sentence, it comes next to be considered in

what order these | parts are to be placed in the composition of a sentence. Now

it is

plain that must be the best order which most naturally occurrs to the mind and best

expresses the sense of the speaker concerning what he speaks. But this is not the

simple order in which they would be placed by one that was noaway affected with what

he said, but varies according as any of the different terms is the chief or essentiall one

in the sentence, as that must first occur to the mind. The most plain order we could

suppose and in which ideots etc. speak, would be this. 1

The subjective, 2

The

attributive, 3

The objective, 4

The Terminative, 5

thly

The Circumstantiall. The

conjunctive and adjunctive

would | probably [be at the] be either of the beginning or

end, and the adjuncti<ve> in different places according to its different designs.

But this order would very ill suit many expressions, nothing lively or spirited could be

said of this arrangement. The generall rule therefore is that whatever is most interesting

in the sentence, on which the rests depends, should be placed first and so on thro’ the

whole. {That the strong member should preceed those of less consequence is also

confirmed by the observation already made of ranters, they raise the 1

and most

important part of the sentence always to a high note as they are most in earnest.

Thus would a man always speak who felt no passions, but when we are affected with

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any thing some one or other of the Ideas will thrust

itself forward and we will be most

eager to utter what we feel Strongest. Eloisa regrets her vain Endeavours to check her

Passion and the treachery of her heart.

In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays

Her heart still dictates and her hand obeys.

Make it

Lost Eloisa weeps in vain and prays

Still her heart dictates and her hand obeys,

the line tho still a pretty one has lost much of its force. In the same Manner:

His Soul proud Science never taught to stray.}

Translations which are literally done from one language to another particularly from the

antient to the modern are very defective in this respect. They do not indeed stick by the

naturall and grammatical order, but then they frequently <follow> one worse suited to

the subject than it would be. The reason is that as the different parts might be more

disjoined in them, | so when they are put into an other language where such liberty can

not be taken they only breed confusion. They need a different arrangement before the

same spirit can be given the sentence when in an other language. The most animated

and Eloquent works whether ancient or modern, if turned into the grammaticall order

would appear to be wrote by <a> dull fellow or an idiot. If therefore we find the first

turn we give a sentence does not express our sentiment with suitable Life we may

reasonably imagine it is owing to some defect in the arangement of the terms (that is to

say if the words be proper English) and when we hit this, it is not only language but

stile, not only expresses the thought but also the spirit and mind of the author.

| {Hence it is that Literary translations have been from the beginning of the world and

to its end will be unsufferably Languid and tedious. Any member of the Phrase may thus

on certain occasion intrude into the first place, sometimes even the Conjunctive.

An example may be taken from a fine passage in Bolinbroke: There have been in our

little world as well as in the Great one Ages of Gold, of Silver and Brass etc.

If our dissatisfaction be owing to the impropriety of our Words, that we will instantly

perceive if we understand Language; but oftimes it arises from somewhat that we

cannot explain and in this case we may always be sure that it is from the words not

arranging themselves in the order of the Ideas.

| Ammianus Marcellinus

observed the great Dignity which Livy had given his Stile by

his Inversions; he thought therefore that by inverting still more and more frequently he

might give a greater Energy to his; but not knowing that which gave propriety to Livys

he has become insufferably obscure; ex<ample> the beginning of his third Book.

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This Generall axiom it is fit to have in view while, we compose, but it is not to be

expected nor is it adviseable that we should adjust every Phrase by a minute

examination of the order our Ideas have or ought to have.}

ENDNOTES

[

] Hand B(?), replacing 2

[

] both deleted

[1 ]

‘Past tense’ and ‘past participle’ clearly need to be added here; and of course the

archaic third person singular –eth has not lost its e but been superseded by –s.

[

] last six words inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] Hand B

[

] soon deleted

[

] blank of six letters in MS

[

] last two words replace words in which; fronounciation changed to fronnunciation;

sentences is likewise is repeated

[

] e of pronounced deleted

[

] (which all foreigners observe often) deleted

[

] for deleted

[

] Some authors replaces The sound

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] changed from words

[

] This paragraph in Hand B

[2 ] Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et sur la peinture (1719) by the Abbé (Jean

Baptiste) Du Bos (1670–1742), one of the most influential works in eighteenth–century

aesthetics, appeared in an English translation by Thomas Nugent as Critical Reflections

on Poetry, Painting, and Music (1748).

[3 ]

Lack of an adequate phonetic notation defeats Smith’s attempt to describe the

vowel system of English, especially the short (non–diphthongal) i and u; and the scribe

has probably failed to understand. In the case of u it is not clear which ‘other language’

could possibly be intended—or alternatively which variety of English and which words

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are the basis. For i it looks as if an approximate equivalent is desperately being sought

in the ‘obscure’ vowel e as in French je, ne, etc. ‘Intelligible’ was an unlucky example to

use, since at least its first e is irrelevant to the statement: unless it simply exemplifies i.

[

] mourn etc in Hand B

[

] Hand B

[

] lead in Hand B at end of a line

[

] replaces may

[

] last letters blotted through overwriting: ? each

[

] Hand B

[

] added in margin before Two

[

] added by Hand B in blank left

[

] added by Hand B on opposite page, replacing deleted adjective

[

] should be objective

[

] cancelled in MS, and not replaced

[

] Hand B

[

] other deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] written over and

[

] attributive, objective (replacing adjunctive), and adjunctive, added by Hand B

[

] The sentence That . . . in earnest is squeezed by Hand A into space left at top of 47

above Hand B’s note Thus would . . . to stray, which begins opposite But this order

would . . .

[

] MS thurst

[4 ]

Eloisa to Abelard, 15–16.—‘His Soul . . .’: Essay on Man, i.101.

[5 ]

Henry St John, Viscount Bolingbroke (1678–1751): the Hesiodic cliché ascribed

here to him (but untraced) does not sum up his view of history. ‘You poets have given

beautiful descriptions of a golden age, with which you suppose that the world began.

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Some venerable fathers of the church have given much the same descriptions of

another golden age, with which they suppose that it is to end, and which will make

some amends for the short duration of the paradisaical state, since the latter is to

continue a thousand years’. (‘Fragments or minutes of Essays’ x.§4: Works, 1754,

v.107). What he really sees is: ‘a sort of genealogy of law, in which nature begets

natural law, natural law sociability, sociability union of societies by consent, and this

union by consent the obligation of civil laws’ (80).

[6 ]

The model imitated by the Latin–writing Greek historian Ammianus Marcellinus (AD

c.330–395) was rather Tacitus, whose histories he continued from 96 to 378, his extant

books xiv–xxxi covering 353–378. The reference is to his close attention to prose

rhythm, especially his habit of ending sentences with metrical clausulae and exploiting

variations of the cursus.

[

] 48 and v.48, the last two pages of quire 12, are in Hand B

LECTURE 5.

Friday Nov.

26. 1762

It is a great defect in the arangement of a sentence when it has what they call a tail

coming after it, that is when the sense appears to be concluded when it is not really so.

This is always avoided by placing the terminative and circumstantiall term before the

attributive. This by rendering the sense incomplete prevents our thinking it is concluded

before the wh<ole> is expressed. It likewise keeps the mind in suspense, which is of

great advantage on many occasions. If these rules be observed the expression, though

not perhaps so pompous and regular as that of Lord Shaftesbury amongst the moderns

or Isocrates and the other most antient orators, will probably have more force and life,

and be every way more natural and Eloquent, than the laboured periods of those

authors.

The chief thing they aimed at in the | arrangement of their words was the agreable

cadence of the periods. This was much more easily attained in the ancient than modern

languages. The similarity of sound in the different members, one great help in this case,

was allways to be come

at without any great labour: Their verbs and nouns generally

having the same or similar terminations in the same parts. By this means the cadence

of their sentences were easily rendered smoothe and Uniform. But in modern languages

the case is very different as neither the verbs nor nouns have such similarity in their

terminations. The chief help in our language to a good cadence is to make the different

members end nearly with the same number of words | and those of the same sort.

When other ways are attempted or when even this is carried too <far>, it often hurts

the propriety and perspicuity of the sentence, which are still more to be regarded.

| {The ancient authors of the best character generally avoid this by throwing the verb

and sometimes the nominative also into the end of the sentence. Livy and Cicero

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commonly <end> every third sentence in this manner. And later authors thinking to

attain their grandeur and dignity by following them in this, frequently carry it too far, so

as to end perhaps 2 out of 3 with the verb or nominative. Cicero was ridiculed

for his

esse [Posse] videatur.}

| {There is a passage in the Oratio pro Marcello in which there is an example of

Couplets and of Alternate Rhime. Another passage in Shaftesburys Essay on Virtue gives

a specemen of his great care.

The passage is a description of a Judicious traveller.}

| In many cases this uniform and regular cadence is not at all proper. Joy and grief

generally burst out into periods, regularly decreasing or increasing both in length and

the quickness of their movements according as the passion is growing more violent or

beginning to subside. {The

Bursts of Laughter and of Crying observe this Regularity of

increase or diminution.}

Pompous lofty expressions generally run into sentences of a

tollerable length and of a slow movement. Cicero has many passages that shew the

proper stile of grief and joy in this respect: he often makes use of those stronger

passions. But De|mosthenes, a man of a more hard

and stubborn materials, never

introduces those passions and accordingly has none of those regular and uniform

cadences. Lord Shaftesbury may serve as an example of the pompous and grand stile.

{Demosthenes never expresses a weak Passion: Joy, grief, or Compassion never once,

he is that hard unfeeling man; nor does he ever express Pomp as Cicero often does, he

is altogether familiar tho Severe}

On the other hand indignation has <no>

sort of regularity in its cadence and anger is of

all the most broken and irregular. {Indignation everyone knows is the most irregular of

all Passions in its movements. It is so in its Expression also, and this it is which gives

the Variety to Demosthenes Periods.}

A good and harmonious sound is also promoted by avoiding harsh clashings of

consonants or the hiatus arising from the meeting <of> many vowels. The latter our

language is in no great danger [is danger] of. The more frequently vowels and

dipthongs occur it is generally the sweeter. Waller | has a vast sweetness in his

compositions, from the smooth and melodious words he generally makes use of. |

{Waller has a whole Copy of verses to Delia

in which the only harsh words are Stretch

and Gods.

Delia let not us enquire

what has been our past Desire

for if Joys we now may prove

take advice of present love.

Swift in his Severe Ironicall manner says

Our Barren climate hardly bears

one Sprig of bay in 50 years

yet every fool his claim alledges

as if it grew on common hedges.}

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Swift again is harsh and unpleasant in many of his compositions. This stile suits well

enough with the morose humour of that author but would bee very unpleasant in most

sorts of compositions.

Long sentences are generally inconvenient and no one will be apt to use them who has

his thoughts in good order. This is not to say that we are to be so restricted as

Demetrius Phalereus

and other authors would have us, as never to have above 3 or 4

members at most in a period. There are many sentences in Bolingbroke and

Shaftesbury <which> have twice that number and | are nevertheless very perspicuous.

| {In the same manner as when we are taken with any Subject and full of it we are

eager and impatient to speak of it and bring it in to every Conversation, so

whichsoever it is among the Ideas which constitute a Phrase that most deeply affects

us, that we bring forth first.

As we are naturally disposed to begin with the most interesting Idea and end with those

which are least so, in like manner those who are little attentive to their manner of

speaking begin always in a high key | and end in a low one. This is the manner of all

those who have a monotony, who whine whether in the Pulpit of the Barr or in

Conversation.

When in obedience to the Arrangement of Ideas the objective comes first it requires the

subjective to be placed immediately after.

Whom have I hurt? No Poet yet or Peer.

Him haply Slumbring on the Norway foam etc.

| This then is the Rule.

Let that which affects us most be placed first, that which affects us in the next degree

next, and so on to the end.

I will only give one other Rule with regard to the arrangement which is Subordinate

indeed to this great one, and it is that your Sentence or Phrase never drag a Tail.

To limit and qualify what you are about to affirm before you give the affirmation has the

appearance of accurate and extensive views, but to qualify it afterwards seems a kind of

Retractation and | bears the appearance of confusion or of disingenuity.

Many other rules for arrangement have been given but they do not deserve attention.}

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 4; all subsequent lectures are correspondingly misnumbered

[

] MS become (? –squeezed at end of line)

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[1 ] Quintilian (X.ii.18) says some orators think they have done brilliantly and spoken

as Cicero would have done ‘si in clausula posuissent Esse videatur’.

[

] In Hand B keyed by marginal X to above line 1 of v.49

[2 ] Pro Marco Marcello: the reference is unclear, unless it is to such patterns as

‘imperatorum / gentium / populorum / regum’ (ii.5). Couplet rhymes are, as Latin

terminations make inevitable, fairly frequent: ‘aut nobilitate aut probitate’ (i.3);

‘interclusam aperuisti . . . aliquod sustulisti’ (i.2); ‘[multi quid sibi expediret,] multi quid

deceret, non nulli etiam quid liceret’ (x.30). For Shaftesbury JML suggested the passage

on travel in Soliloquy or Advice to an Author (Treatise iii in Characteristicks), III.iii; but

metrical effects are not obvious in it. Methods of scanning prose metrically were set out

by John Mason in An Essay on the Power and Harmony of Prosaic Numbers (1749),

especially chapters 4–6. In his survey of English prose writers from this standpoint (ch.

8) he takes a low view of Shaftesbury, who ‘hath gained the Character of a fine Author’

more from his name than his writings. He stresses the importance the ancient critics

attached to ‘numerous composition’: Aristotle, Rhetoric, iii.8; Cicero, Orator; Quintilian,

ix.4.

[

] Hand B: sentences set out as three paragraphs

[

] loud deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] natu deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] supplied conjecturally

[

] Hand B

[3 ]

Waller’s To Phillis (‘Phillis! why should we delay’), in Witts Recreations (1645)

entitled ‘The cunning Curtezan’. Line 15 (the first quoted) reads ‘Let not you and I

inquire’; line 21 (the third), ‘For the joys we now may prove’. No alternative version of

the poem, to Delia or another, seems to be known; though it appears in three Bodleian

MSS.

[4 ]

On Poetry: a Rhapsody (1733); lines 7–10 read:

Our chilling Climate hardly bears

A Sprig of Bays in Fifty Years;

While ev’ry Fool his Claim alledges,

As if it grew in common Hedges.

[

] Hand B

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[5 ] Demetrius (On Style, i.16–17) gives two to four as the best number of cola or

members to a period; Aristotle’s definition of the colon is quoted from Rhetoric, iii.9

(i.34); its structure is examined (i.1–8). The author of the Περ ρµηνείας, De

Eloquentia, was formerly identified with Demetrius of Phalerum (300 BC) who is much

too early. W. R. Roberts in his LCL edition (1927, 271–7) argues for Demetrius of Tarsus

who lived in the latter decades of the first century

AD and who may have served in

Britain.

[

] last four words are at top of v.53; 52

and 52

(i.e. quire 14), in Hand B, are

inserted between 52 and 53

[

] whatever it is deleted

[6 ] Pope, Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, 95 (Pope wrote ‘has Poet . . .’); Milton, Paradise

Lost, i.203.

LECTURE 6.

Mr. Smith.

Monday Nov.

29 1762

OF WHAT IS CALLED THE TROPES AND FIGURES OF SPEECH.

These are what are generally conceived to give the chief beauty and elegance to

language; whatever is sublime and out of the common way is called a figure of speech.

After language had made some progress it was naturall to imagine that men would form

some rules according to which they should regulate their language. These rules are what

we call Grammar. The Greeks and Romans accordingly have done so, but as their

languages were | very complex in their form, particularly in their conjugations and

declensions, it was not easy to accommodate these rules to all possible cases. Neither

were they made in the best manner they might have been. They were only

accommodated to the most plain and vulgar expressions. But when they came to find

that many expressions could not be reduced to these rules, they were not candid

enough to confess the grossness of their error and allow that these were exceptions to

the generall they had laid down but stuck close to their old scheme. That they might do

this with the greater appearance | of justice, they gave this sort of expressions the

name of tropes or figures of speech. Thus Imperative and Interrogative expressions,

which plainly contradict the generall rule That in every sentence there must be a

nominative, a verb,

and an accusative, and in a certain order, were not consider’d as

exceptions but as figures of speech; and accordingly we find that amongs<t> the first of

the figuræ sententiarum of Quinctilian

and Cicero. They had only accomodated their

rules to the narrative stile and whatever varied from this was considered as a figure of

speech. In these as we mentiond they | tell us all the beauties of language, all that is

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noble, grand and sublime, all that is passionate, tender and moving is to be found. But

the case is far otherwise.

When the sentiment of the speaker is expressed in a neat,

clear, plain and clever manner, and the passion or affection he is poss<ess>ed of and

intends, by sympathy, to communicate to his hearer, is plainly and clevery hit off, then

and then only the expression has all the force and beauty that language

can give it. It

matters not the least whether the figures of speech are introduced or not. {When your

Language expresses perspicuously

and neatly your meaning and what you would

express, together with the Sentiment or affection this matter inspires you with, and

when this Sentiment is nobler or more beautifull than such as are commonly met with,

then your Language has all the Beauty it can have, and the figures of speech contribute

or can contribute towards it only so far as they happen to be the just and naturall forms

of Expressing that Sentiment.}

They neither add to nor take from the beauty of the

expression. When they are more proper than the | common forms of speaking then they

are to be used but not otherwise. They have no intrinsick worth

of their own. That

which they are often supposed to have is entirely derived from the expression they are

placed in.—When a man says to another, Go Blow the fire, there is no one that will

affirm there is any beauty or elegance in this expression; Yet it is as much

a figure of

speech and as far from the common or grammaticall form as when Dido says I peti

Italiam ventis,

which very one allows to be a neat and strong expression. But the

beauty of it flows from the [the] sentiment and the method of expressing it being

suitable to the passion, and not from the figure in which delivered.

The Grammarians however finding that | the best authors frequently deviated from their

generall rules and introduced those figures of speech as they called them; and finding

also that they were most frequently met with in the most striking and beautifull

passages, wisely concluded that these figures gave the passage

all its beauty; not

considering that this beauty flowed from the sentiment and the elegance of the

expression, and that the use <of> figures was only a secondary mean sometimes

proper to accomplish this end, to wit, when they more fittly expressed the sense of the

author than the common stile. This being often the case in strong and striking passages,

was the reason of these being so found in them and this mistake of grammarians in

founding the | beauty of a passage in the figures found in it. — — — —

’Tis however from the consideration of these figures,

and the divisions and subdivisions

of them, that so many systems of retorick both

ancient and modern have been formed.

They are generally a very silly set of Books and not at all instructive; However as it

would be reckoned strange in a system of Rhetorick intirely to pass by these figures that

have so much exercised the wits of men, we shall offer a few observations on them

though not on the same plan as the ordinary writers proceed on.

Whenever then an expression is used in a different way from the common it must

proceed either from the words of the expression or from the manner they are used in. |

{The first forms what the antients called Tropes, when a word τρεπεται

turned from its

original signification. The 2

produces what is more properly called figures of speech.

says

just

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for all the Rhetoricians Rules

are but the naming of his tools.

It is impossible to assign the distinct limits of the antient figures: thus—when the shreek

of the fallen angells is said to have torn hells concave

this figure might be asserted

with equall reason to be a Hyperbole, a Metonyme or Metaphor.}

| Again, if it proceeds from any thing in the words, it must be either from the words

being new and not in common use or being used in a sense different from the common

one. No one will venter to form words altogether new and not related to those already in

use. Such could never be understood, being mere creatures of his own brain. They must

either be formed from words in common use or be old ones brought again into use or be

borrowed from some other language. The language we are most <used>

to borrow

from is the Latin, as we think that as all in the character of gentlemen commonly

understand this language, our words will be easily understood.

Words of this sort are

commonly | reckond to add to the dignity of the writing, as they shew the learning of

the author; and besides what is foreign has some priviledges always attending it. But as

we shewed before, these foreign intruders should never be re<c>eived but when they

are necessary to answer some purpose which the natives cannot supply. That they are

many ways prejudiciall to the language has been already shewn and need not again be

insisted on.

Old words are often introduced into grave and solemn narrations or descriptions,

sometimes because they answer the purpose better, as Mr. Pope says the Din of

Battle,

instead of the Noise of Battle; and sometimes merely because we are apt to

think every thing that is ancient is venerable whether it be | so or not. Our forefathers

we allwise think were a much soberer and grave solemn sort of people than we are and

by analogy every <thing> that relates to them conveys to us the idea of gravity and

Solemnity. Spenser has studied this thro all his works; he is much more obsolete than

any of his contemporary writers, than Shakespear or Sydney.

Compound words are thought by some to give a great majesty to a language as well as

the others; but we see they are generally used rather by the middling than the upper

class of authors. Lucretius, Catullus and Tibullus have many of this sort which we will

never meet with in Virgill or Horace. {I have seen a greek ode by the fellow of a

Colledge on Ad: Vernon

more abounding in such Compounds than either Eschylus or

Homer.}

Milton has but very few; Thompson again never thinks he has expressed

himself well but when he has put two or three. |

There does not seem to be any great

merit in barely tacking two or three words together, unless it be that they are more

concise, as tha<t> Violet–enammelled Vale of Milton

is shorter than the Valley

enammeled with violets.

But no one surely would admire Colley Cibbers Uncomattible,

or the Seceders,

Pull–off–the–crown–of–Christheresy.

When the alteration of the word is in its signification, it must either be in giving it one to

which it has some resemblance or analogy, or when it gets one to which it has no

resemblance but is someway connected. Thus when we say, the slings and arrows of

verse F

ne.

There is s

me c

nnecti

etwixt the cr

sses

bad

the

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slings | and arrows of an enemy. {Rhetorical and Gramaticall paronomasia} But when

we say that one drinks off a Bowl

for the liquor that is in it there is here no sort of

resemblance betwixt the Glass and the liquor, but a close connection. The first of these

is what the Rhetoricians call a metaphor or translatio

and the latter is what they call a

metonymie. Of each of these there are severall distinctions which we shall pass over as

of little consequence. {and when we use these words it shall be in the sense

abovementiond.}

In every metaphor it is evident there must be an allusion betwixt one object and an

other. Now as our objects are of two classes, intellectuall and corporeal, the one of

which we perceive by our mind only and the other by our bodily senses; it follows that

metaphors may be | of four different kinds. 1

when the Idea we borrow’d is taken from

one corporeal object and applyed to another intellectuall

object; or 2

dly

from one

intellectuall object to an other corporeal

; or 3

betwixt two corporeal, or 4

betwixt

two intellectual objects. When we say the bloom of youth, this is a meta<phor> of the

kind. When we say one covets applause, this is a<n> instance of the 4

thz

sort of

metaphor. The lust of Fame is an instance of the 1

kind, betwixt a corporeal <and> an

intelle<c>tual object. {The lust of fame is a transposition of a word from denoting a

Corporeal Passion to another Mentall equally gross and indelicate.}

And when we say in

the script<ure> language, The fields rejoiced and were glad, The floods clapt their

hands for joy,

[an] are an example of the 2

kind.

Now it is evident that none of these metaphors can [can] have any beauty unless it be

so adapted that it gives the due strength of expression to the object to be described and

at the same | time does this in a more striking and interesting manner. When this is not

the case they must either carry us to bombast on the one hand or into burlesque on the

other. When Lee makes his Alexander say, ‘clear room there for a whirlwind or I blow

you up like dust’;

{Avaunt and give a Whirlwind room or I will blow you up like dust,}

the objects compared are noways adequate, the Strength of A Whirlwind is a much

more terrible object than the fury of even an Alexander tho perhaps as dangerous to

some individualls. Homer has some metaphors which border near on the burlesque as

when he says, Diomed resembled an Ass

driven by Boys

. Thomson seems to be very

faulty in this respect {of Expressing ever too much and more than he felt}; his

description of the horse will shew this very well [shew this]. | {Compare Thompsons

horse with Virgills from which it was translated}

Virgill again is always just and exact

in his metaphors. Mil<t>on too keeps them always within just bounds. When he

compares the grating of hell gates to the thunder

the metaphor is just, but if he had

compared the noise of the gates of a city to thunder the metaphor would not have been

so just, and still <less> if to the door of a private house, tho perhaps the noise might

have been as great as in the former case. Homer is not always so exact in this point; his

comparison of Ajax to a gad–fly that continually pesterd the Milk woman

is hard on the

borders of Burlesque;

as also that other where he compares Diomedes to an <ass>

whom the boys are driving | before them, but ever and anon he plucks up some thistle

as he passes.

What has been sa[a]id of the justness or propriety of metaphors is equally applicable to

other figures, as Metonymies, Similes, and Allegories, Hyperbolls. Metaphors are nearly

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allied to Metonymies as we observed before. Allegories are also closely connected with

them, insomuch that metaphors are called contracted allegory and an allegory is named

by some a diffused Metaphor: had Spencer been to use

that comparison of

Shakespears before mentioned, of the arrows of an enemy to the uneasiness of bad

fortune, he would have described fortune in a certain garb, throwing her darts arround

her and | would

those that were under her power.

One thing farther we may observe is that two Methaphors

should never be run and

mixed together as in that case they can never be both just. Shakespear is often guilty of

this fault, as in the line immediately following that before cited, where he goes on, or

bravely arm ourselves and stem a sea of troubles. Here there is a plain absurdity as

there is no meaning in ones putting on armour

to stem the seas. {Shakespears sea of

troubles has been converted in a late Edition into a Siedge,

but the former reading is

so like Shakespears manner that I dare to say he wrote it so.}

Thomson has severall

slips of this sort tho much fewer than Shakespear. There <are> I believe 3 or four in

the 4 first lines of his Seasons. In the 1

line Spring

is addressed as some genial

quality in the air, but in the next it is turned into a person and | bade descend, to the

sound of musick, which I believe is very hard to be understood, as well the next, Veild

in a shower of dropping roses. What

sort of a veil a shower of roses would make, or

connection such a shower has with the Spring, I can not tell. These lines which I believe

few

understand are generally admired and I believe because few take the pains to

consider the authors reall meaning or the significance of the severall expressions, but

are astonished at these pompous sounding expressions.

The hyperboll is the coldest of all the figures and indeed has no beauty of itself. When it

appears to have any it is owing to some other figure with which it is con|joined. To say

that a man was a

mile high would not be admired as a lofty expression; but when Virgil

compares the two Heros Turnus and Æneas coming to battle, to two huge mountains,

the grandeur of the two objects is suitable to each other and the hyperboll appears on

the same grounds as we determind when a metaphor appears so.

{Quantus Athos aut quantus Eryx aut ipse coruscis

cum tonat

Ilicibus quantus gaudetque nivali

vertice assurgens Pater appeninus in auras}

When he compares the ships before the battle of Actium

to the Cyclades loosened

from their foundations and floating on the sea, the grandeur of the idea of Islands

loosend and floating on the sea makes the hyper<boll> appear just and agreable. But if

he had said the ships were half a mile broad, the beauty would be entirely lost tho the

hyperboll would be not so great and the fact | asserted nearer the truth.

Besides these many other species of these figures are mentioned, as the paranomasia,

when we dont name but describe a person, as the Jewish lawgiver for Moses, the

when

we call an Orator a cicero, a brave warrior an Alexander, etc. When we speak

improperly as when we say a brass inkglass, a silver box, etc. these are all made figures

of speech, and in generall when we speak in a manner different from the common they

call it a fig<ure>. But these we shall pass over and proceed to the 2

class of figures.

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ENDNOTES

[

] MS 5

, replacing 3

[

] The origin of this name is deleted

[

] numbers written above change the original order a verb a nominative

[1 ]

Quintilian, IX.i.17.

[

] The beauty deleted

[

] and words deleted

[

] MS perscipuously

[

] Hand B

[

] the common form of speaking they are to be used but not otherwise, they have no

intrinsick worth written at top of 57, and deleted

[

] from deleted

[2 ] Aeneid, iv.381: ‘I, sequere Italiam ventis, pete regna per undas’; the rhetorical

device called permissio. See Quintilian, IX.ii.49.

[

] replaces sentiment

[

] however deleted

[

] last three words replace of

[

] for deleted

[

] the remainder of this passage in Hand B

[3 ]

Butler, Hudibras, I.i.89–90;

For all a Rhetoricians Rules

Teach nothing but name his Tools.

These lines, among the most often quoted in the poem, Butler himself echoed in ‘A

Mathematician’ in his Characters (1759; ed. C. W. Daves, 119).

[4 ]

Paradise Lost, i.542. Milton wrote ‘shout’, not ‘shreek’.

[

] conjectural; ? apt

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[

] They common deleted

[5 ]

The Dunciad (1743), iii.269: ‘Dire is the conflict, dismal is the din’.

[

6 ] Admiral Edward Vernon took the defenceless Porto Bello in November 1739 while

Smith was still a student at Glasgow; but the phrase suggests his Oxford days as Snell

Exhibitioner at Balliol, 1740–46. Shenstone (The School–Mistress, 1742) praises

‘Vernon’s patriot soul’, example of ‘valour’s generous heat’.

[

] this sentence, in Hand B, should perhaps follow class of authors

[

] But deleted

[7 ] Comus, 232: ‘the violet–embroidered vale’.

[

] MS reads valley for last two words

[8 ] Colley Cibber’s The Lady’s Last Stake, or The Wife’s Resentment (1707), I.i: Lord

Wronglove speaks of ‘pleasures which were a little more comeatable’. Tom Brown had

used the word in a dialogue in 1687.

The Seceders were the members of the Secession Church which under Ebenezer Erskine

in 1733 broke away from the Church of Scotland in protest against its relation with the

state, as the established church. The phrase reported in two forms recalls the banners

of an earlier movement rebelling against the usurpation by the secular power of the

regality of Christ, ‘the crown rights of the Redeemer’: the Scottish Covenanters between

1660 and 1690. It is left doubtful above whether the ‘heresy’ is the secession or the

usurpation.

[

] Hand B inserts on opposite page off Christs head crown plucking Heresy

[9 ]

Hamlet, III.i.58; read ‘outrageous fortune’.

[

] o deleted

[

] MS transtatio

[

] replaces corporeall

[

] replaces intellectual (interlined then deleted)

[

] MS hesitates between 3

and 4

; 3

seems the second thought

[

] changed from 3

[

] Hand B

[10 ]

A conflated adaptation of 1 Chronicles, xvi.32, and Psalm xcviii.8.

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[

] sentence squeezed into blank space left before next paragraph

[11 ]

Nathaniel Lee’s The Rival Queens, or The Death of Alexander the Great (1677),

III.i.45–7: Roxana says:

Away, be gone, and give a whirlwind room,

Or I will blow you up like dust; avaunt:

Madness but meanly represents my toyl.

At V.i.349 the dying Alexander says: ‘like a Tempest thus I pour upon him’.

[

] Hand B

[12 ] Iliad, xi.558: Ajax compared to an ass in a cornfield beaten by boys.

[

] last seven words inserted by Hand B into blank left; so the next two interpolations

[13 ] Seasons, Spring 808–20; adapted from Georgics, iii. 250–4. Thomson’s whole

passage 789–830 is from Georgics, iii. 212–54.

[14 ]

Paradise Lost, ii. 880–2.

[

] said deleted

[

] last three words inserted by Hand B in blank left

[15 ] JML thought Odyssey, xxii.300 ff. the closest approximation to this confused

allusion: the panic–stricken suitors compared to cows pestered by a gadfly in spring—

the Milk woman is a Freudian slip. Diomedes is again substituted for Ajax; note 12

above.

[

] replaces describe

[

] ? wound intended

[

] replaces hyperbolls

[

] last three words replace arming himself

[16 ] Hamlet, III.i.59–60: ‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing

end them’ ‘Siedge’: Pope’s emendation (1725).

[

] Hand B on v.69

[17 ]

Spring, 1–4:

Come, gentle Spring, ethercal mildness, come;

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And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,

While music wakes around, veil’d in a shower

Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

[

] a shor deleted

[

] MS reads view

[

] MS as, s deleted

[18 ]

Aeneid, xii.701–3.

[19 ]

For ‘tonat’ read ‘fremit’. Line 703 reads ‘vertice se attollens pater Appenninus ad

auras’.

[

] Hand B

[20 ] The Battle of Actium passage (‘pelago credas innare revulsas / Cycladas . . .’) is

Aeneid, viii. 692, and was imitated in the history of Cassius Dio, xxxiii.8.

[

] blank of six letters in MS

[

] a blank page (72) follows

LECTURE. 7.

Wednesday Dec.

1762

Besides those tropes and fig<ure>s as they are called, of which we treated in the last

lecture, there are others that consist either in the meaning the word is taken in or in the

arangement of the words. The 1

they call figuræ verborum,

the 2

figuræ

sententiarum.

When we use a fem<inine> for a mascu<line> or even give an other

gender to a neuter, this is a figura verborum. Figuræ senten<tiarum>, on the other

hand, are such as imperative, interogative or exclamatory phrases. But these as we

observed above give no beauty of their own, they only are agreable and beautifull when

they suit the sentiment and express in the neatest manner the way in which the speaker

is affected. | When the common form of speech

well enoug<h> describes the thing we

want to make known or sufficiently communicates our sentiments, yet perhaps it does

not express clearly and with sufficient life the manner we ourselves regard it. If in this

case the fig<urative> way of speaking is more suited to our purpose, then it surely

ought to be used preferably to the other. But we may observe that the most beautiful

passages are generally the most simple. That passage of Demosthenes in which he

describes the confusion at Athens after the battle of | Elat<eia> is reckond by Longinus

the most sublime <of> all his writings; and yet there is not one figure or trope through

the wh

f it.

Ver

ften the fi

res seem t

iminish r

ther th

add

the

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of an excellent passage. Two of the most beautifull passages in all Popes works are

those in which he describes the state of mind of an untaught Indian; and the other in

which he considers the various ranks and orders of beings in the universe.

{Lo the Poor Indian whose untutored mind

Sees God in clouds and hears him in the Wind etc.

The words watery waste had been better exchanged for Ocean but that the Rhime

required them.

Behold above around and underneath

all nature full and bursting into birth etc.}

In the latter of these there is not any one figurative expression, and the few there are in

the other are no advantage to it.— —

On the other hand there is nowhere more use made of fi|gures than in the lowest and

most vulgar conversation. The Billingsgate language is full of it.

Sancho Panca, and

people of his stamp who speak in proverbs

, always abound in figures. For we may

observe that a proverb always contains one, at least, and often two metaphors.

Upon the whole then, Figures of speech give no beauty to stile: it is when the

expression is agreable to the sense of the speaker and his affection that we admire it.

But the same sentiment may often be naturally and agreably expressed and yet the

manner be very different | according to the circumstances of the author. The same story

may <be> considered either as plain matter of fact without design to excite our

compassion, or [it] in a moving way, or lastly in a jocose manner, according to the point

in which it is connected with the author.

There are variety of characters which we may

equally admire, as equally go<o>d and amiable, and yet these may be very different. It

would then be very absurd to blame that of a good natured man because he wanted the

severity of a more

rigid one. A man of Superior sense and penetration is not <to> be

condemned because he | give his assent to the opinion of the Company with the same

ease as one of a more soft temper and of less parts (whose

character for this reason

very often acceptable) will do. Other charac[ac]ters all very commendable can not be

blamed because they want some perfections we are apt to admire, for these perhaps

are

not at all consistent with them, and can hardly meet in the same person. The

consideration of this variety of characters affords us often no small entertainment, it

forms one of the chief pleasures of a sociall life, and few are so foolish as to blame it or

consider it as | any defect.

In the same manner the various stiles in stead of being condemned for the want of

beauties perhaps incompatible with those they possess may be considered

as good in

their kind and suited to the circumstance of the author.

This observation confirms

what we before observed that the expression ought to be suited to the mind of the

author, for this is chiefly governed by the circumstances he is placed in. {The stile of an

author is generally of the same stamp as their character. Thus the

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and the [ ] [of] of the flowery modesty of [ ] Addison [ ]

the pert and

flippant insolence

of Warburton and the

[ ] of [ ]

appear evident in their

works and point the very character of the man.}

A Didactick writer and a historian seldom make use of the bolder figures, which an

orator frequently introduces | with advantage. The end

they have in view is different

and so the means by which they hope to accomplish that end must be so too.

It is here to be observed that an Orator or didactick writer has two parts in his work: in

the one he lays down his proposition and in the other he brings his proof of that

proposition. An historian on the other hand has only one part, to wit the proposition. He

barely tells you the facts, and if he has any thing as a proof of it, <it> is only a

quotation from some other authore in a note or parenthesis. | From this it is that tho

the circumstances of an Orator and a didactick writer are very differen<t> yet there is a

much greater resemblance betwixt their stiles than even

betwixt the <stile> of the

latter and the historians.

The Orator and historian are indeed in very different circumstances. The business of the

one is barely to narrate the facts which

are often very distant from his time and in

which he is, or ought to be and endeavours to appear, noways interested. The Orator

again treats of subjects he or his friends are nearly concerned in; it is <his> business

therefore to appear, if <he> is not realy, deeply concerned in the matter, and uses all

his art to | prove what he is engaged in. Their Stiles are no less different. The orator

insists on every particular, exposes it in every point of view, and sets of every argument

in every shape it can bear. What the historian would have said barely and in one

sentence by this means is brought into a long series of different views of the same

argument. The orator frequently will exclaim on the strength of the argument, the

justice of the cause, or any thing else that tends to support the thing he has in view;

and this two in his own person. The historian again as he is in no pain what side seems

the justest, but acts

as if | he were an impartial narrater of the facts; so he uses none

of these means to affect his readers, he never dwells on any circumstance, nor has he

any use for insisting on arguments as he does not take part with either side, and for the

same reason he never uses any exclamations in his own person. {When he does so we

say he departs from the character of the historian and assumes that of the orator.

Amongst the ancient historians I remember but three instances of such exclamations in

the first person: one in Velleius Paterculus

on the death, and the other in Florus on the

Eloquence, of Cicero. The third is in Tacitus life of Agricola in the end, on the character

of that Roman

. Virgil has but three exclamations in the Eneid, one on[e] the love of

Dido, another on the death of Pallas, a third on that of Nisus and Euryalus, Felices

animæ si quid mea carmina possunt.}

The Didactick writer, as his circumstances

are nearer

to that of the orator

, so their

stiles bear

a much greater resemblance to each other. The orator often lays aside the

dictatorial stile and barely offers his arguments in a plain modest manner, especially

when his discourse is directed to those of greater | judgement and higher rank than

himself. The didactick writer sometimes assumes an oratorial stile tho it may be

questioned whether this be altogether so proper. Cicero often does so. Not only in those

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writings which are wrote in the manner of dialogue, but where he speaks in his own

person, he often runs out into oratorial exclamations, and dwells on the same argument,

and repeats it in different manners. Most other writers of this sort often do so

as well

as he. Aristotle amongst the ancients, and Matchiavel

among the moderns are perhaps

the only two who have adhered | closely to this peculiar stile of a didactick writer. They

trust solely to the strength of their arguments and the ingenuity and newness of their

thoughts and discoveries to gain the assent of their readers.

Such is the variety of stiles that those which appear the most like have still a great

difference. No two stiles have a great<er> connexion than a plain and a simple one, but

they are far from being the same.

A Plain man is one who pays no regard to the common civilities and forms of good

breeding. He gives his opinion bluntly and affirms without condescending to give any

reason for his doing | so; and if he mentions any sort of a reason it is only to shew how

evident and plain a matter it was and expose the stupidity of the others in not

perceiving it as well as he. {He is not <at> all ruffled by contradiction or any irritation

whatever but is at pains to shew that this proceeds from his confidence in his own

superior sense and judgement. He never gives way either to joy or grief; such affections

would be below the dignity and complacence of mind which he affects. Compassion finds

littl<e> room in his breast; admiration does not at all suit his wisdom; contempt is

more agreable to his selfsufficient imperious temper.} He is not at all sedulous to

please, on the conterary he affects a sort of austerity and hardness of behaviour, so

that when the common civilities of behaviour would be the most natural and easy

manner, he industriously avoids them. He is so far from affecting any graces or civilities

that he affects the conterary, and renders himself more severe than his nature would

naturally lead him to be. {He despises the fashion in every point and neither conforms

himself to it in [in] dress, in language nor manners, but sticks by his own downright

ways. Wit would ill–suit his gravity, Antitheses or Such like expressions.

} | He is more

apt to think that others have ill motives even when they act well than that they are only

in a mistake and do not err knowingly when they act amiss. {He affirms without

mitigation or apology.}

In ordinary conversation he thinks it enough to support what he

says that it is his opinion, and is at no pains to enquire into those of others. Such a

character is what clergymen generally assume, and those come to age.

It does well enough in those of superior abilities, who have had greater opportunities

than common, or longer experience, but young men generally avoid it. Modesty and

diffidence are more suited to their years than the assuming arrogance of this |

character; which even tho accompanied with age and knowledge

renders the possessor

rather the object of our respect

and esteem than of our love.

The Simple man again, is not inde<e>d studious to appear with all the outward marks

of civility and breeding that he sees others of a more disingenuous temper generally put

on; but then, when they naturally express his real sentiments, and do’nt appear

constrained, he readily uses them. He appears always willing to please, when this desire

does not lead him to act dissingenuously. At other times the modesty and affability of

his behaviour, his being always willing to comply | with customs that do’nt look affected,

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plainly shew the goodness of his heart. He is not over ready to give his opinion and

when he does it ’tis with that unaffected modesty which displays itself in all his

behaviour, and in nothing more than in his conversation where his diffidence of his own

judgement leads him to offer all the reasons he has to be of that mind,

to shew that he

does not assert any thing merely because it is his opinion. Contempt never enters into

his mind, he is more ready to think well than meanly both of the parts and the conduct

of others. His own goodness of heart | makes him never suspect others of

dissengenuity. He is always open to conviction and is not <at> all irritated by others

contradicting him, but the reason of this is not any stubbornness but the diffidence he

entertains of his own capacity. {This leads him to speak very often in the first person to

shew the mean opinion he has of himself, and sometimes to childish prating.} He is

more given to admiration and pity, joy [pity] g<r>ief and compassion than the

conterary affections, they suit well with the softness of his temper. This temper is what

we often find in young men and in them is very agreable. Old men are generally not so

apt to be of this character. It renders one more an object of

love and affection than

regard and esteem.— — — —

| When the characters of a plain and a simple man are so different we may naturally

expect that the stile they express themselves in will be far from being the same.—Swift

may serve as an instance of a plain stile and Sir Wm Temple of a simple one. Swift

never gives any reason for his opinions but affirms them boldly without the least

hesitation; and when one expect<s> a reason he meets with nothing but such

expressions as, I have always been of opinion that, etc. because etc. It seems to me.

This we find he does in the begin of his Considerations on the present state of affairs.

He is so far from studying the ornaments of language that he | affects to leave them out

even when naturall; and in this way he often throws out pronouns etc. that are

necessary to make the sentence full but would at the same time lead him into the

uniformity of cadence which he industriously avoids. This however make<s> his stile

very close, no word can be passed over without notice, every other one must be

strongly accented to draw the attention of the hearer, for a word lost would spoil the

whole. This makes us read his works with more life and emphasis than those <of> most

others; in Shaftesbury and Bolingbroke or others who study this uniformity of

caden<c>e there are many superfluous words which we huddle together | as being of

very small importance to the sense of the period. He never introduces (in his grave

works) any sort of figure, and that for the same reason as he avoids harmony and

smoothness of cadence. He never expresses any passion but affirms with a dictatorial

gravity.

Temple on the other hand is not anxious about ornament but when they are naturall he

does not reject them; his stile has neither the hardness of Swifts nor the labourd

regularity of Shaftesbury.

The most common and received opinions he never

but the most <?> manner possible, as That saying that | wit and solid

judgement are seldom or ever found together; which he brings in his character of the

Dutch nation.—He does not avoid a figurative stile when agreable to his subject, as in

the comparison betwixt the life of a merchant and a

soldier,—{In which there <are> a

great many antitheses. These Swi<f>t never uses in his grave works, the<y> savour

too much of the paradox, that is of wit, to suit his gravity.}—He uses more obsolete

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words here than we would expect in a writer of his age. This we never find in Swift. The

knowledge of the world which <he> affects and which he chiefly imploys to satyrize it

and turn it to ridicule, will not allow him to use anything that is out of the present taste.

But Temple is led to them by the notion that every thing belonging to our forefathers

has more simplicity than those of our times, as we

they were a more simple and honest

set of men. | His love of a modest simple stile leads him (but in a different maner from

Swift) to use the first person very often, as well as to run into prating and Quibble. The

description he gives of

may se<r>ve as an instance of both the former. When he says,

The earth of Holland is better than the air, the the love of Interest stronger than the

love of honour,

it is a mere quibb<l>e on the words earth and profit, air and honour.

Xenophon and most other writers of this sort as well as he, abound in Jokes we are

surprised to find in such grave writers.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 6

[

] MS underlines only this phrase

[1 ] See v.55 n.1 above, and Introduction.

[

] is to be chosen replaced by most expressive in every which is then deleted

[2 ] Demosthenes, De Corona, 169. This account of the alarm of the Athenians at the

news of Philip’s occupation of Elateia in 339 BC was admired by several critics:

Hermogenes, and Longinus On the Sublime, X.7; cf. ii.225 n.3 below.

[3 ]

Essay on Man, i.99–112; line 100 reads ‘or hears him . . .’; line 106 is ‘Some

happier island in the watry waste’, to rhyme with ‘embrac’d’.

‘Behold above around and underneath . . .’: the passage on the ‘vast chain of

being’ (i.233 ff.) reads:

See, thro’ this air, this ocean, and this earth,

All matter quick, and bursting into birth.

[

] Hand B

[

] MS off

[

] are deleted

[

] As deleted; The v written opposite on v.76

[

] ru deleted

[

] replaces a

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[

] replaces will

[

] replaces These

[

] last three words added in blank left

[

] And deleted

[

n–n

] five blanks in MS of about seven letters each

[

] last fifteen words in Hand B; pert and flippant insolence replaces Hand A’s flippant

unsol

[

] two blanks in MS of about four letters each

[

] replaces thing

[

] added in margin

[

] in which their of all deleted except which

[

] replaces to act

[4 ] C. Velleius Paterculus, Hist. Rom. ii.66; Annaeus Florus, Epitome, ii.16 (Cicero’s

funeral juxtaposed with his fame as orator); Tacitus, Agricola, xlv.3; Aeneid, iv.65–7

(‘heu! vatum ignarae mentes . . .’), cf. iv.408–10 (Dido apostrophised, ‘quis tibi tum . .

.’); x.501–2 (‘nescia mens hominum . . .’), and Pallas apostrophised ‘o dolor atque

decus magnum . . .’ (507–9); ix.446–9 (for ‘Felices animae’ read ‘Fortunati ambo!’).

[

] last six words in Hand B; also following sentence

[

] bear deleted

[

] resemblance deleted

[

] so his stile deleted

[

] MS bears, s deleted

[

] likewise deleted

[

] Hand B, replacing Hand A’s Dr Mandeville deleted

[5 ]

On the Characters see Introduction, p. 17.

[

] sentence written down inner margin of v.85, with last five words at top of v.86

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[

] Hand B

[

] MS age, knowledge and

[

] replaces esteem regard

[

] last eight words replace arguments he can think of

[

] regard, than of love deleted

[6 ]

Some free thoughts upon the Present State of Affairs – May 1714, published 1741.

[

] three blank lines follow

[

] In deleted

[

] conjecturally supplied: blank in MS

[

] the written above

[

] for if

[

] blank of eleven letters in MS

[7 ] Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands (1673), ch.4. See i.200

n.12 below.

LECTURE. 8.

Friday. Dc.

1762

Having in the foregoing lecture made some observations on tropes and figures and

endeavoured to shew that it was not in their use, as the ancient Rhetoricians imagined,

that the beauties of stile consisted, I pointed out what it was that realy gave beauty to

stile: That when the words neatly and properly expressed the thing to be described, and

conveyed the sentiment the author entertained of it and desired to communicate [to his

hearer] by sympathy to his hearers; then the expression had all the beauty language

was capable of bestowing on it. I endeavoured to shew also that the form of the stile

was not to be confined to any particular point. The view of the author | and the means

he takes to accomplish that end must vary the stile not only in

describing diferent

objects or delivering different opinions,

but even when these are the same in both; as

the sentiment will be different, so will the stile also. Besides this I endeavoured to shew

that

when all other circumstances are alike the character of the author must make

the

stile different. One of grave cast of mind will describe an object in a very different way

from one of more levity, a plain man will have

a stile very different from that of a

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simple man.—There is however no one particular which we esteem, but many are

equally agreable. Extreme moroseness and gravity, such that | no risible objects will in

the least affect, would not be admired: neither would one of such levity that the

smallest incident would make lose himself. But it is not in the middle point betwixt these

two characters that an agreable one is alone to be found, many others that partake

more or less of the two extremes are equally the objects of our affection. In the same

way it is with regard to a spirited and silly behaviour, and every two other opposite

extremes in the Characters of men.

These

characters tho all good and agreable must nevertheless as they are different be

expressed in very different stiles, all of which may be very agreable. | And here likewise

the rule may be applied that one should stick to his naturall character: a gay man

should not endeavour to be grave nor the grave man to be gay, but each should

regulate that character and manner that is naturall to him and hinder it from running

into that vicious extreme to which he is most inclined.

This difference of stile arising from the character of the author, I endeavoured to

illustrate by comparing the Stiles of two celebrated English writers, Swift and Sir W

Temple, the one as an example of the plain Stile and the other of a simple one. Both are

very good writers; Swift as I observed is remarkable for his propriety and | precision,

the other is not perhaps so very accurate, but he is perhaps as entertaining and much

more instructive. I shall now proceed to make some farther observation on the Stile of

Dr. Swift.

There is perhaps no writer whose works are more generally read than his, and yet it has

been very late,

that very few in this country particularly understand his real worth. He

is read with the same view and the same expectations as we read Tom Brown,

etc.

They are considered

as writers just of <the> same class. Swifts graver work<s> are

never almost read, they are looked upon as silly and trifling, and his other works are

read merely for their humour.

We shall therefore endeavour to find out what are the causes of this generall taste: and

first Swifts sentiments in Religious matters are not at all suitable to | those which for

some time past have prevail’d in this country. He is indeed no friend to tyranny either

religious or civill; he expresses his abhorr[r]ence to them on many occasions; but then

he never has such warm exclamations for civill or religious liberty as are now generally

in fashion. This would not suit his character, the plain man he affects to appear would

never be subject to such strong admiration. The levity of mind

as well as freedom of

thought now in fashion demands

warmer and more earnest expressions than he ever

allows himself.

Another circumstance that will tend to confirm this opinion is that the thoughts of most

men of genius in this country have of late <inclined>

abstract and Speculative

reasonings which perhaps tend very | little to the bettering of our practise. {Even the

Practicall Sciences of Policticks and Morality or Ethicks have of late been treated too

much in a Speculative manner.}

These studies Swift seems to have been rather

entirely ignorant of, or what I am rather inclined to believe, did not hold them to be of

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great value. His generall character as a plain man would lead him to be of this way of

thinking; he would be more inclined to prosecute what was immediately beneficial.

Accordingly we find that all his writings are adapted to the present time,

either in

ridiculing some prevailing vice or folly or exposing some particular character.

We can

not now enter altogether into the true spirit of these; and besides as I said such

confined thoughts do not suit the present taste which delights only in generall and

abstract speculations.

| But his language may possibly have brought about the generall disregard for his

serious works as much as any other part of his character. We in this country are most of

us very sensible that the perfection of language is very different from that we commonly

speak in.

The idea we form of a good stile is almost conterary to that which we

generally hear. Hence it is that we con<c>eive

the farther ones stile is removed from

the common manner [the] it is

so much the nearer to purity and the perfection we

have in view. Shaftesbury who keeps at a vast distance from the language we

commonly meet with is for this reason universally admired. Thomson who perhaps was

of the same opinion himself, is equalled with {Milton}

who amongst | his other beauties

has this also, that he does not affect forced expressions even when he is

most sublime.

Swift on the other hand, who is the plainest as well as the most proper and precise of all

the English writers, is despised as nothing out of the common road; each of us thinks he

could have wrote as well; And our thoughts of the language give us the same idea of

the substance of his writings. But it does not appear that this opinion is

well grounded.

There are four things

that are requisite to make a good writer. 1st—That he have a

complete knowledge of his Subjects; 2.

dlyw

That he should arrange all the parts of his

Subject in their proper order; 3

dly

That he paint | <or> describe the Ideas he has of

these severall in the most proper and expressive manner; this is the art of painting or

imitation (or at least we may call it so).

Now we will find that Swift has attained all these perfections. All his works shew a

comple<te> knowledge of his Subject. He does not indeed ever introduce any thing

foreign to his subject, in order to display his knowledge of his subject; but then he

never omitts any thing necessary His rules

for behaviour

and his directions for a

Servant shew a knowledge of both those opposite characters that could not have been

attained but by the closest attention continued for many years. {It would have been

impossible for any one who had not given such attention to alledge so many

particulars.}

The same is apparent in all his political works, insomuch that one would

imagine his thoughts had been altoge|ther turned that way.— —

One who has such a complete knowledge of what he treats will naturally arange it in the

most proper order. This we see Swift always does. There is no part that we can think

would have been better disposed of. That he paints but each thought in the best and

most proper manner and with the greatest strength of colouring must be visible to any

one at first sight.

Now that a writer who has all these qualities in such perfection should

not make the best stile for expressing himself in

with propriety and precision can not

be imagined. {That he does this when he speaks in his own person we

observed

already and that he does so when he takes in the character of another is sufficiently

evi

ent fr

m his

lliver

— —

}

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Notwithstanding of all this, perhaps for the reasons already shewn his graver works are

not much regarded. It is his talent for ridi|cule that is most commonly and I believe

most justly admired. We shall therefore consider how far [far] this talent is agreable to

the generall character we have already given of him, and whether or not he has

prosecuted it with the same exactness as the other subjects we mentioned. But before

we enter upon this it will be necessary to make a few previous observations on [the]

this Talent.

{This Leibnit

and after him Mr Locke

supposed to be excited by the

viewing of some mean object; but that this is not the case will appear from what

follows.}

Whatever we see that is great or noble excites our admiration and amazement, and

whatever is little or mean on the other hand excites our contempt.

A greatt object

never excites our laughter, neither does a mean one, simply as being such. It is the

blending and joining of those two ideas which alone causes that Emotion.

| {

The foundation of Ridicule is either when what is in most respects Grand or pretends

to be so or is expected to be so,

has something mean or little

in it or when we find

something that is realy mean with some pretensions and marks of grandeur.} Now this

may happen either when an object which is in most respects a grand one, is

represented to us and described as mean,

or e contra when a grand object is found in

company as it were with others that are mean; [or] or e contra when

our expectation is

dessapointed and what we imagined was either grand or mean turns out to be the

reverse. These different combinations of ideas afford each a different form

or manner

of ridicule.

If we represent an object which we are apt to conceive as a grand one <or> as of no

dignity, and turn its qualities into the conterary, the mixture of the ideas excites our

laughter tho neither of them seperately would do so. Hence come the Ridicule conveyed

to us by burlesque or mock heroick compositions. The circumstances a thing is in also, if

their be any great contradiction betwixt the objects, | for the same reason excites our

laughter. A tall man is no object of laughter, neither is a little, but a very tall man

amongst a number of dwarfs, like Gulliver amongst the Lillyputians, or a little man

amongst a set of very tall men as the same Gulliver in Brobdignag, appear = ly

ridiculous. There is no real foundation for laughter here but the odd association of grand

and mean or little ideas. {In this and similar cases it is the Groupe of figures and no

individuall one which is the object of our Ridicule

. The Ridicule in the Rape of the Lock

proceeds from the Ridiculousness of the Characters themselves, but that of the Dunciad

is owing altogether to the circumstances the persons are placed in. Any two men, Pope

and Swift themselves, would look as ridiculous as Curl

and Lintot

if they were

described running the same races.} We laugh against our will at the employment of

Socrates when we see him in the Clouds

of Aristophanes measuring the length of a

Fleas Leap by the length of the same fleas foot; or suspended in a basket making

observations. If this philosopher had been <seen>

so employed he

would have

appeared ridiculous, and the great contrariety of the ideas makes the very supposition

appear so.

| {The wit of some of the French Comedians as

is founded in this principle. The Lover

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in fousque

is no ways ridiculous but by the circumstances.} The Italian Comedians, at

Paris, as they are called, as soon as any grave or solemn tragedy appears on the

theatre give the same play, that is the same Incidents

applied to some very opposite

character. Generalls and Emperors become Burghers or turn

mechanicks; the ridicule

here is owing to the contrast <betwixt> the high Idea connected with the incidents we

have seen attendant on great characters, and the same incidents happening to persons

of a rank so much lower. When what we expect to find

great and noble turns out

otherwise we are in the same manner moved to laughter, and e contra. A sow wallowing

in the mire is certainly a loathsome object, but no one would laugh at it, as it is

agreable to the nature of the beast. But if he saw the sow afterwards in a drawingroom,

the case would | be altered. On the other hand a lean poor looking rawboned horse

excites ones laughter as {that noble animall seems to lay claim to our admiration}, we

expect something great and noble in the appearance of that animall. One would not

laugth at a bad prospect, as there <is> no contradiction in supposing one, unless we

had been made to expect a fine one, but we laugh at a bad picture because we expect

that art is exeersised in some noble manner.

’Tis from such combinations chiefly that ridicule proceeds; we may laugh too at things

we contemn, but in

a different manner. A Coxcomb walking on the Street and looking

around him to see those about admiring him as he expects is a subject of laughter to

the graver sort; but then this laughter that proceeds from an object we contemn is

evidently mixt with somewhat of anger. But if this same coxcomb should slip a foot |

and fall into the kennel the grave gentlemen would laugh

but from a different motive,

<at> the ridiculous plight such a fine fellow was in; which was the very condition they

at their hearts would have wished him. Some philosophers

observing that laughter

proceeds sometimes from contempt, have made <it> the originall of all ridiculous

perceptions. But we may frequently laugh at objects that are not at all contemptible. A

tall man amongst a number of little men or e contra makes us laugh but we dont

contemn either. Things that have no sort of connexion, but where the ideas we have are

strangely contradictory, excite our laughter. I remember once a mouse

running across

the area of a chappel spoilt the effect | of an excellent discourse. Any such trivial

accidents excite our laughter when they happen at any solemn or important work, as a

Funerall. Tis for this reason that we are diverted with those

phrases that we are

accustomed to connect in our imagination with noble objects, when we meet with them

applied to mean and trifling ones. Hence comes the ridiculousness[ness] of Paradoies

(or applying whole passages of an author by a sort of translation to subje<c>ts of a

very different sort, and Centos where single phrases are applid.) The Cento of

Apuleius,

where the Grave and chaste Virgil is made to speak in his own words on a

very different Subject and not very chaste language, no where makes us laugh but in

the Story of the Marriage. {All the ridicule of Scarrons Virgil Travesti

in the same

manner proceeds from the Grave

and solemn adventures of Æneas being told in the

most ridiculous language and trivial mean expressions.} The Modern Latin Poets, Vida,

Sanazarious,

etc. are all Paradies on some of the | ancient Latin Poets. They

not

being on trivial subjects but such as are equally important, do not excite our laughter

but are rather taedious and wearisome. The English poets are more originall, they do

not usually borrow from others; such dealings would be counted no better than stealing;

r th

t re

re n

t s

tires

me. The S

len

shillin

iverts

the

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ridiculous appearance

Mi<l>tons language makes when used to extoll the Charms of a

Shilling. {The incongruity of the language to the Subject has also its effect here

as well

as in works of the conterary sort as Virgil travesti.} But so far is <it> from being a sign

of any passages being a mean one that a parrodie has been made upon it, that ’tis

rather a sign of the conterary, as the more sublime and Pompous a passage is the

greater the contrast will be when the phraseology is applied to triviall | subjects. Thus

we see the soliloquy of Hamlet,

the last speech of Cato, have undergone more

parodies than any others I know, and indeed make very good ones. For the same

reason Parodies on the Scriptures tho very profane are at the same time very ridiculous.

{Puns, which are the Lowest Species of Wit,

are never witty or agreable but when

there is some contrast betwixt the ideas they excite; a mere quibble is never agreable.}

There are two species of Comic writing derived from two species of ridiculous

circumstances. The one is when characters ridiculous in themselves are described and

the other when characters that have nothing ridiculous in themselves are described in

ridiculous circumstances. The

in the of is an instance of the former and the Lover of

the fouguer

is an instance of the latter. The whole | of Congreves wit consists in

the ridiculousness of his similies,

as his comparing two persons bespattering one

another to two apples roasting, or the young lady newly come to town, gaping with

amazement, he compares her wide opend mouth to the gate of her fathers house

It is proper to be observed

that of all these species of Ridicule: Burlesque, Doggerel,

Mock Heroick, Parodies, Centos, Puns, Quibbles and even that sort of Comedy which

ridicules characters not from their real defects

<but> from the circumstances they are

brought into, are

all of the buffoonish sort and unworthy of a gentleman who has had a

regular education; | and whenever such an one exercises his wit in this manner, he lays

aside that character to assume that of a buffoon at least for the time he does so. The

only species of Ridicule which is true and genuine wit is that where Real foibles and

blemishes in the Characters or behaviour of men are exposed to our view in a ridiculous

light. This is altogether consistent with the character of a Gentleman

as it tends to the

reformation of manners and the benefit of mankind.

{The objects of Ridicule are two: either those which, affecting to be Grand or being

expected to be so, are mean, or being Grand in some of their parts are mean in others—

or such as pretending etc. etc. to beauty are deformed.}

ENDNOTES

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[

] perhaps late, or his fate; very is added above line, perhaps by anticipation

[1 ]

Tom Brown (1663–1704), a prolific writer of satirical dialogues, tracts, fiction,

verse; he translated, among much else, the works of Scarron (1700).

[

] them deleted

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] MS me

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] more deleted

[

] conjecturally supplied

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] the deleted

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] Hand B

[

] being deleted

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] These deleted

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] and deleted

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] whatever is most deleted

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] the it is replaces to be

[

] Milton W supplied by Hand B at top of v. 103

[

] the deleted

[

] at a deleted

[2 ] Read ‘three’; but the scribe may have omitted one.

[

] That he paint if we may so, the ideas of deleted

[

] replaces directions

[3 ]

A Treatise on Good Manners and Good Breeding (in the Earl of Orrery’s Remarks on

the Life and Writings of Swift, 1752); Directions to Servants (1745).

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occasion, then and deleted

[

] and that deleted

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] MS whe

[4 ] Supply ‘Drapier’, which gave Hand A trouble also at i.120 and for which Hand B

supplied ‘Dyer’.

[

] replaces subject

[

] written in different ink above a blank beginning sc

[5 ]

Leibnitz, Locke: see Introduction, p. 21.

[

] or disdain deleted

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] Ridicule proceds deleted

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] last six words inserted in margin

[

] last three words replace noble

[

] last eight words replace but has some particulars that are/do about it as presented

(last five words interlined then deleted)

[

] one that deleted

[

] or stile deleted

[

] utterly (?), equally (?)

[

] In this . . . Ridicule, Hand B

[6 ] Edmund Curll and Bernard Lintot, the booksellers who appear in both 1729 and

1743 versions of Pope’s Dunciad, especially Book ii.

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[7 ]

Lines 143–52.

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[8 ]

No doubt a first attempt at the title of which ‘Fouguer’ (i.115 n.16) is the second

version. The Italian Comedians: the Gelosi, allowed to play commedia dell’arte in Paris,

later presented parodies of tragedies, etc. Expelled 1697–1716 for exceeding their

licence; later still, fused with the Opéra–Comique. Writers for them included Regnard,

Dufresny, Marivaux.

[

] tur deleted

[

] MS ton; see note r

[

] of a gra deleted

[

] replaces from

[

] at his above line, deleted

[9 ] ‘Some philosophers’: perhaps Hobbes, See i.107 n.5, and Introduction, p. 21.

[

] blank of fourteen letters in MS

[

] original order a mouse, once changed by numbers written above

[

] replaces any

[10 ] i.e. Ausonius, Opuscula, Lib. xvii: Cento nuptialis.

[11 ]

Paul Scarron, Virgile travesti (1648–52).

[

] Langu deleted

[12 ] Jacopo Sannazzaro (1456–1530). Latin poems: Elegiae and Epigrammata are

personal lyrics. Eclogae piscatoriae substitute fishermen for the shepherds of pastoral.

De partu Virginis treats Christ’s birth in classical epic style; criticised by Du Bos in

Réflexions critiques (1719), I.xxiv.

[

] replaces but

[13 ] The Splendid Shilling: an Imitation of Milton, by John Philips (in A Collection of

Poems, 1701), began a vogue for the application of Miltonic style and verse to trivial

subjects: his own Cerealia (1706) and Cyder (1708), John Gay’s Wine (1708), the

Countess of Winchilsea’s Fanscomb Barn. In 1709 appeared a protest in Miltonic verse:

Milton’s Sublimity Asserted.

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[14 ]

Hamlet, III.i.56–88; Addison’s Cato, V.iv, referring either to Cato’s dying speech

or to the lines spoken over him by Lucius, 105 17.

[15 ]

This sounds already a proverbial phrase, as it has remained. It goes back to

Dryden’s ‘the lowest and most grovelling kind of wit, which we call clenches’ (Defence of

the Epilogue, 1672, §20). The word pun, which gradually replaced clench or clinch from

1660 onwards, was used perjoratively from the start. Addison devoted Spectator 61 (10

May 1711) to an attack on it. His strictures in Spectator 279 (19 Jan. 1712) on the

devils’ puns in Paradise Lost vi were rebutted by John Oldmixon, The Arts of Logick and

Rhetorick (1728), 18: ‘Milton, ’tis plain, thought he cou’d not make worse Devils of

them, than by making them Punsters’, just as serious painters give them horns and a

tail. ‘Of all meanness’, wrote Johnson in the Rambler 140 (20 July 1751), ‘that has least

to plead which is produced by mere verbal conceits, which depending only upon sounds,

lose their existence by the change of a syllable’.

[

e–e

] five blanks of about ten letters each in MS

[16 ] Cf. i.110 n.8 above. This comedy cannot be identified.

[

] blank of four letters in MS

[17 ] Witwoud, The Way of the World, IV.viii (‘. . . fell a–sputt’ring at one another like

two roasting Apples’); Belinda. The Old Batchelor, IV.viii (‘I fansied her like the Front of

her Father’s Hall; her Eyes were the two Jut–Windows, and her Mouth the great Door,

most hospitably kept open . . .’). But the ‘wit’ is not Congreve’s; he is creating two

comic characters whose affectation is a pretence to wit. Witwoud at one point gives a

recital of similes (II.iv) till Millamant cries ‘Truce with your Similtudes’. For the

distinction see Congreve’s Concerning Humour in Comedy (1696).

[

] before house illegible word (pony?) deleted; after house, Lucian has chosen the

one of these 2 sorts of comick Subjects and Swift the other deleted

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] that I mentioned inserted above then deleted

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LECTURE. 9

Decr. 6.

Monday

Mr Smith.

As there are two Sorts of Objects that excite our admiration, viz when an object is

Grand, or when it is beautiful, and two that excite our contempt, viz those that are little

and mean, or such as are deformed and disagreable in themselves; So there must be

too sorts of Ridicule proceeding from the Combinations of these different objects. 1

When mean objects are exposed by considering them as Grand, or 2

dly

when Grand

ones or such as pretend or are expected to be so, are ridiculed

by exposing the

meaness and the littleness which is found in them. Swift has chosen the former and

Lucian the latter of these Sorts.

| The characters of these different men would naturally lead them to choose these

conterary Subjects. Swifts naturall moroseness joined to the constant dissapointments

and crosses he met with in life would

make contempt naturall to his character; and

those follies would most provoke him that partake most of gayety and levity.

This was

so prevalent a part of his character that we are told he studiously avoided what are

called the common forms of Civility and good breeding. When he saw those that had

little else to recommend <them> not only have some tollerable character and pass thro

life with some sort of applause, but even be preferred before himself,

the reverence he

had for his own good sense and judgement which he thought far above that

of the

common stamp[t]; he would | surely be

prompted to expose to the ultmost of his

power these and such like

follies and silliness in men. Accordingly we find all his less

serious works are wrote with a design to ridicule some one of the prevailing gay follies

of his Time. The<y> are chiefly levelled against Coxcombs, Beaus, Belles and other

characters where gay follies rather than the graver ones <prevail>; these he never

attacks in any of his works except the Tale of a tub, which was wrote when he was very

young and is a work of a very different sort from all the rest. It is much less Correct

than those which he wrote when more advanced in life.— — — —

We may observe he never uses that sort of ridicule which may be thrown on any subject

by the choise of words, his Language is always correct and Proper and no ornaments are

ever introduced nor does he ever write but in a manner most suitable to the Nature of

the Subject. As his morose temper directed him to make choise of the gayer follies | of

men

to exercise his talent for ridicule, so the character of a plain man which he affected

hindred him from ever making us laugh

to excess at any subject in however ridiculous

a light he may set. This he does when he speaks in his own person. But when he has a

mind to throw a great degree of Ridicule on any subject he puts it into the mouth of

some other person as in Gullivers travells and the Dyers Letters.

Even in these works

he never uses any expressions but what are suitable to his Subject. The most common

manner in which he

throws ridicule on any subjects when he speaks in an other

character is to make them express their admiration and esteem for those things he

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would [he] expose. As ridicule | proceeds from a combination

of the Ideas of

admiration and contempt it is very evident he could not take a more effectual method to

ridicule any foible or silly object than by making someone express the highest

admiration for it, as the contrast is here the strongest. In those works that appear the

most silly and trifling, as his Song of Similies

and that other of Ditton and Whiston, he

shews

the folly that then prevailed in a very strong light

— —

Lucian, if we may judge of the man from his works, has been of a very opposite turn.

He was of a merry gay and jovial temper with no inconsiderable portion of Levity. {He

was a follower of the Epicurean or rather of the Cyrenaic Sect; his principles are all

adapted to

that scheme of life where the chief thing in view is to pass it easily and

happily, and with as much pleasure as we possibly can. And as Life is

short and

transitory he lays it down as a maxim that we ought not to omit any present happiness

in expectation of a greater to come butt lay hold of the present opportunity. Friendship

and the exercise of the sociall affections are in his opinion the chief fund for enjoyment

and consequently chiefly to be cultivated.} The characters which Swift

exposes | were

those which best suited his taste. Grave men who had any thing

of levity or folly in

their character were those that he most despised, as those who[s] went about their

follies with an air of importance appeared most despicable in the eyes of the morose

Swift. Agreably to these different casts of mind, the<y> chose different characters to

expose by their wit. Swift as we said exposes none but Empty Coxcombs, Fine

Gentlemen, Beaus, Belles, and any that encouraged themselves in

employments of no

moment or importance of life. {Lucian exposes only Grave Characters and the Graver

pursuits of men, as the miser and ambitious man}

Lucian on the other hand has

pitched on, for the subject of his ridicule, persons of the most sollemn and respectable

characters, as Gods, Goddesses, Heroes, Senators, | Generalls, Historians, Poets, and

Philosophers [as], as those wherein the Gra<v>er sort of follies are most commonly

found. Of such personages all his dialogues are composed and those writings in which

he talks in his own person turn chiefly on such follies. His discourse de Luctu

will serve

as an example both of the Subject and his manner of treating it. We may observe he

never uses any witticisms derived from language, nor any ornaments of that sort but

what his subject naturally leads him to. He never makes any digressions from his

Subject; his fruitfull Imagination always affording him matter enough on every subject

without being obliged to call in another to his assistance, perhaps very little connected

with it. | His design of surprising and diverting his reader sometimes leads him into

seeming digressions, that his return to his Subject after keeping one in suspence may

be the more entertaining. One way he often does this in, is by putting the Comparison

before the subject to which it is compared. Thus he puts the fatall effects of the fever at

Abdera before

his complaint on the number of historicall writers then in Greece. And

the same may be seen in the Comparison betwixt Diogenes tumbling his Tub and his

own labours. {He often brings in the Illustration before that which it illustrates because

commonly it is the most diverting, ex Gr in the beginning of his Directions for the

writing of history

A Graver author would have followd the Naturall order.}

By the different ends that Swift and Lucian have had in view, they have

formed a

complete system of ridicule. There is hardly any folly of the gayer sort that Swift passes

over and

scarce any of the graver that is ommitted by Lucian. | Either

of them taken

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alone might be apt to prejudize one [an] in favour of the follies conterary to those he

ridicules; But both together form a System of morality from whence more sound and

just rules of life for all the various characters of men may be drawn than from most set

systems of Morality.

Nor are Lucians works altogether confined to subjects of a ludicrous nature, he has

many discourses of a serious cast, recommending the different virtues. These are all

very excellent; his manner in them is no less agreable than in his other works; he

always keeps to his Subjects and never is necessitated to betake himself to generall

praises of virtue in order to recommend any particular one (as has been the fashion for

some time) that the discourse migh<t> | have the appearance of a complete system

and be drawn out to the length of a pocket Volume. In a word there is no author from

whom more reall instruction and good sense can be found than Lucian.

| {There are scattered thro his works severall Essays very much in the manner of Mr

Addison, wherein he illustrates the Virtue he would re<c>ommend with all the Graces of

Serious Composition and yet never departs from the consideration of its Particular

Nature, nor launches out into

vague and Generall declamations suited to any Virtue

whatever and shewing this chiefly that the author is not particularly | acquainted with

his Subject. In this respect he may be an excellent moddell to those whose particular

business it is to teach morality, in opposition to a very different manner which prevails

at present.}

ENDNOTES

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] tho deleted

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] whom deleted

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[1 ] These two poems are no longer ascribed to Swift. A new song of new similies

appeared in the Pope–Swift Miscellanies in Verse (1727), iii.207–12, and is included in

John Gay’s Poetical Works, ed. G. C. Faber (1926), 645–6, and ed. V. A. Dearing and C.

E. Beckwith (1974), 376–8.—The scatological 16–line Ode for Musick: On the Longitude,

recitativo and ritornello, on W. Whiston and H. Ditton’s A New Method for discovering

the Longitude both at Sea and Land (1714) circulated in London in April 1715 and was

published in the so–called Miscellanies: The Last Volume (1727). It has been variously

ascribed to Swift, Pope and Gay, and was included in Swift’s Works (1824), xiii.336, but

its author is unknown. Gay wrote a brilliant prose satire on the eccentric Whiston in

Miscellanies, Vol. 3 (1732), 255–76: ‘A True and Faithful narrative’.

[

] changed from ridicules

[

] blank line follows

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] prove deleted

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] of a deleted

[2 ] The antithesis requires Lucian, not Swift.

[

] light deleted

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] ligh deleted

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] Hand B

[3 ]

On Funerals (LCL iv.112–31), a satire on superstitious expressions of grief inspired

by the mythographers Homer, Hesiod, et al.

[

] to the historicall deleted

[4 ] How to write History (LCL vi.2–73), an attack on the host of chroniclers of the

Parthian War, AD 162–5).

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LECTURE. 10

Monday Dec.

13 1762

There is perhaps no English writer who has more of this Gaiety

than Mr Addison,

neither

has he so much as Lucian. This is the chief character of all his prose works: he

frequently in the manner of Lucian begins his discourses with a story which he places

before the subject itself, as in his address to the Tory Ladies in the Freeholder;

but he

never carries [carries] these so far as Lucian does, nor so minutely. This perhaps may

be owing to

a sort of modesty which he is said to have been possessed in a very [a]

great degree, in the common affairs | of <life> {and which breaths indeed thro all his

works}

and which the other author does not appair to have had in any considerable

share, from severall stories he tells of himself, as that of his biting the thumb of the

Imposter Alexander. {The Ludicrous incident of biting Alexanders thumb is related in his

Life of that imposter,

than which few things are more entertaining.}

{His modesty

hinders him from those

bold and extrava<ga>nt strokes of humour which Lucian uses

(he would not for instance put a Ludicrous speech into the mouths of a dead man or a

god)

or from throwing out such biting sarcasms in his own person as Swift often does.}

The flowryness of Mr Addison naturally lead him to

make frequent use of figures in his

discourses, the chief of these are metaphors, similies and Allegories. But in the use of

these he always displays the modesty of his character. It may seem strange how the

use of Allegories especially should seem consistent with that modesty we have

attributed to him {as they are the boldest and strongest kind of figures

}, but the

manner in which he introduces them is always such as makes it appear that there was

nothing forced or uneasy in the reforming them. He often introduces them in the form |

of a dream,

and at the same time shews us the train of thought that led him into such

conceptions, and by this means makes us imagine that the circumstances he was in

naturally Suggested them without his being at any pains about it. {As that where he

compares the different characters of men to different musicall instruments.}

In the same manner his similes are always represented as naturally presenting

themselves. This modesty we have ascribed to him

causes him likewise deliver his

sentiments in the least assuming manner; and this would incline him rather to narrate

what he had seen and heard than to deliver his opinions in his own person; and at the

same time he will not seem to be at great pains to

give nice and curious

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circumstances; it is more consistent with | the naturall modesty of his temper to give us

only a few of the most striking and interesting. He

neither presumes as Shaftesbury

and Bollingbroke, nor dictates as Swift. {Shaftesbury and Bolinbroke display their

superior dignity etc. Swift his superiority of Sense.}

For the same reason he neither

writes with the precision and nice propriety of the latter, nor have his sentences that

Uniform cadence in their severall members as the two former writers always affected:

His Sentences are neither long nor short but of a length suited to the character he has

of a modest man; who naturally delivers himself in Sentences of a moderate length and

with a uniform tone. Accordingly we find those of Mr Addeson are of this sort. They

generally consist of 3, 4 or 5 phrases and are so uniform in their | manner that we read

them with a sort of monotony. The modest man will not use long sentences as they are

either proper for declamation, which he never uses, or bespeak a confusion of Ideas

that is not to be attributed to Mr Addison. He would not either deliver himself in short

sentences, as that would appear either like Snip–snap or the language of presumption

and a dictating temper. {As he does not pretend that every thing he says is of the

utmost importance, and an infallible rule, so he is much more lax in his writings than Dr

Swift: every word of his writings is of importance; when on the other hand Mr Addison

frequently turns up the same thought in the different phrases of a sentence only placing

it in a different light,

and is rather inaccurate in the use of words and repetition of

Synonymes, which the concluding of the Essay on the Pleasures of the imagination

will

be an example of if examined with that view.

}

He frequently makes quotations from the Poets, which gives his writings an air of gaiety

and good humour. This Gaiety joined to the modesty that appears in his works has

gained him the character of a most polite and elegant writer. His descriptions are not

near so animated as those of Lucian, and this may proceed both from his naturall

modesty and | from his imagination not being altogether so lively. This will appear to be

the case in any of his descriptions if compared with <that> of Jupiter carrying of Europa

in Lucian

which is remarkably animated, and gives as compleat a notion of the severall

transactions as

words can convey.

ENDNOTES

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] MS 9th

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] of S deleted

[

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[1 ] The Free–holder: or political essays, 23 Dec. 1715 to 29 June 1716, 55 numbers,

often reprinted in one volume; ed. J. Leheny (1979). ‘Future Readers may see, in them,

the Complexion of the Times in which they were written (55).

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[2 ]

Lucian met the false priest Alexander of Abonuteichos, who as ‘prophet’ of

Asclepius conducted mysteries and had a considerable following from AD 150 to 170,

and his satire on him is one of his bitterest (LCL iv; reference to p. 145).

[

] Hand B, below Hand A’s His modesty . . . does

[

] strong and deleted

[

] and at the same time deleted

[

] use deleted

[

] of deleted

[3 ]

Addison on allegory: Guardian 152; Spectator 55, 63, 183, 315, 464. For dreams

and visions, which as suggested are often the vehicle, see Guardian 106, 158; Tatler 81,

97, 100, 117, 119, 120, 123, 146, 154, 161; Spectator 110, 159 (Vision of Mirzah),

275, 487 (essay on Dreams), 505, 558–9.

[4 ]

Tatler 153.

[

] prevents his deleted

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] Hand B

[

] the Language deleted

[5 ] The pleasures of the imagination are the subject of Spectator 411–21 (21 June–3

July 1712).

[

r–r

] and is . . . view, Hand B

[6 ] Dialogues of the Sea–Gods (fifteen, a shorter work than the superior Dialogues of

the Gods) drew on Homer, the pastoral poets, and paintings: LCL vii. 178–237.

Reference to no. 15.

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LECTURE. 11

Wednesday. Dcr:

some of our former Lectures we have given a character of some of the best English

Prose writers, and made comparisons betwixt their different manners. The Result of all

which as well as the rules we have laid down is, that the perfection of stile consists in

Express<ing> in the most concise, proper and precise manner the thought of the

author, and that in the manner which best conveys the sentiment, passion or affection

with which it affects or he pretends it does affect him and which he designs to

communicate to his reader.

This you’ll say is no more than common sense, and indeed it is no more. But if you’ll

attend to it all the Rules of Criticism and morality when traced to their foundation, turn

out to be some Principles of Common Sence which every one assents to; all the

business of those arts is to apply these Rules to the different subjects and shew what

their conclusion

is when they are so applyed.

| Tis for this purpose we have made

these

observations on the authors above mentioned. We have shewn how fare they

have acted agreably to that Rule, which is equally applicable to conversation and

behaviour as writing. For what is that makes a man agreable company, is it not, when

his sentiments appear to be naturally expressed, when the passion or affection is

properly conveyed and when their thoughts are so agreable and naturall that we find

ourselves inclined to give our assent to them. A wise man too in conversation and

behaviour will not affect a character that is unnaturall to him; if he is grave he will not

affect to be gay, nor if he be gay will he affect to be grave.

He will only regulate his

naturall temper, restrain within just bounds

and lop all exhuberances and bring it to

that pitch which will be agreable to those about him. But he will not affect such conduct

as is unnaturall to his temper tho perhaps in the abstract they may be more to be

wished.

| In like manner what is that

is agreable in Stile; It is when all the thoughts are justly

and properly expressed

in such a manner as shews the passion they affected the author

with, and so that all seems naturall and easy. He never seems to act out of character

but speaks in a manner not only suitable to the Subject but to the character he naturally

inclines to.

The three authors we have alr<e>ady considered seem all to have acted agreably to

this Rule. Every one speaks in his own stile and such an one as is agreable to his

generall character. Hence we see there is a certain uniformity in their maner, there are

no passages that remarkably distinguish themselves,

their admirers dont seem

particularly fond of any one more than the rest, there are none which they get by heart

| and repeat with admiration as they would a piece of Poetry.

These authors did not

attempt what they thought was the greatest perfection of stile but that perfection which

they thought most suitable to their genius and temper.

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But there is an other English

author who though much inferior to these three yet for the

same reason as Thomson and others of that sort, had till very lately in this country a

character much Superior to that of the others. The reason as we mentioned before was

the ignorance of true propriety of language. I believe I need hardly mention that I mean

Lord Shaftesbury.

This author seems not <at> all to have acted agreably to the Rule we have given above

but to have formed to himself an idea of beauty of Stile abstracted from his | own

character, by which he proposed to regulate his Stile.

If we attend to the Character and circumstances of this nobleman we will easily perceive

what it was which lead him to this Conduct. He was connected with a father and

educated under a tutor, who have no

very strong affection to any particular sect or

tenets in Religion, who cried up freedom of thought and [and] Liberty of Concience in all

matters religious or philosophicall without being attached to any particular men or

opinions. If these friends of his were

inclined to any one sect it was rather to the

puritans than the established Church, as their tenets best suited with that Liberty of

Concience they so strenuously maintained. Shaftesbury himself, by what we can learn

from his Letters,

seems to have been of a very puny and weakly constitution, always |

either under some disorder or in dread of falling into one. Such a habit of <body> is

very much connected, nay almost continually attended by, a cast of mind in a good

measure similar. Abstract reasoning and deep searches are too fatiguing for persons of

this delicate frame.

Their feableness of body as well as mind hinders them from

engaging in the pursuits which generally engross the common sort of men. Love and

Ambition are too violent in their emotions to find ground to work upon in such frames;

where the passions are not very strong.

The weakness of their appetites and passions

hinders them from being carried away in the ordinary manner, they find no great

difficulty in conforming their conduct to the Rules they have proposed to themselves.

The fine arts, matters of taste and imagination, are what they are most inclined to

cultivate. They require little labour and at the same time afford an entertainment very

suitable to their

temper and abilities. Accordingly we find that Lord Shaftesbury tho no

great reasoner, nor deeply skilled in the abstract sciences, had

a very neice and just

taste in the fine arts and all matters of that sort. {We are told he made some figure as a

speaker in bothe houses of Parliament

tho not very extraordinary, but we do not find

that he was ever distinguished in debate or Deliberation in Politicall matters} Naturall

philosophy he does not seem to have been at all acquainted with,

but on the other

hand he shews a great ignorance of the advances it had then made and a contempt for

its followers. The reason plainly is that it did not afford the amusement his disposition

required and the mathematicall part particularly required | more attention and abstract

thought than men of his weakly habit are generally capable of. The pleasures of

imagination as they are more easily acquired and of a very delicate nature are more

agreable to them. {The contempt he expresses for such Studies is such as could

proceed from no cause but very great ignorance}

Men of this Sort, when they take a religious turn are generally great enthysiasts, and

much disposed to mysticall contemplations, on the being and nature of god, and his

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perfections, and such like topics. But the delicacy of his temper together with the plan of

his education gave him a different turn. The scheme of Revealed religion which he was

best acquainted with as we said was that of the puritans. The Grosness of their conduct,

the little decency or appearance | of devotion that they used in their manner of worship

shocked his delicate and refined temper and

in time prejudized him against every

scheme of revealed religion. The Selfish and confined systems of Hobbs and

could not

agree with the delicacy of his Sentiments. The School philosophy was still less agreable.

The futility, Sophistry, Barbarism and Meaness of their schemes was very visibl<e> and

very disagreable to his turn of mind. This made him desirous of forming some system to

himself more agreable to his own inclinations and temper. The intimate acquaintance

which he had with the ancients and the great

knowledge he had early acquired in the

ancient languages inclined

him to apply to them in this research. The system which of

all others best suited his | disposition was that of the Platonists. Their refined notions

both in Theology and Philosophy were perfectly agreable to him, and accordingly his

Philosophy and Theology is the same in effect with theirs but modernized a little and

made somewhat more suitable to the taste then prevailing. In these he intermixes

somewhat of the Philosophy of Hobbs and his precep<t>or Lockes. This latter as he was

of a very different cast from his pupil so his philosophy did not suit with <him>, being

too metaphysicall and not capable of affording him entertainment to his mind. But tho

he endeavours to run down these philosophers yet he sometimes takes their assistance

in forming his own plan.

| {Such is Lord shaftesburys Undertaking to overturn the Old Systems of Religion and

Philosophy as Hobbs before him had done but still more,

which Hobbs never had

attempted to do, to erect a new one. Let us see how he has executed it, in what Stile

and manner}

Such is the subject of Lord Shaftesbury’s writings; Let us next consider how far his

Stile

is suitable to the same character that lead him to this Scheme of Philosophy.

His weakly state of body as it prevented the violence of his passions, did not incline him

greatly to be of any particular

temper to any great height. His Stile therefore would not

be naturally more of one Sort than another. As therefore he was not lead to have any

particular Stile, by the prevalence of any particular inclination, it was natural for him to

form some Model or Idea of perfection which he should always have in view. {His

Letters where we should expect to meet with some distinguishing marks of the

character of the man more than in his other writings, are not near so animated as those

of Swift and Pope or Ciceros

and the noble Romans who corresponded with him.

The<y> are indeed full of what we call here sentiments (that is morall observations) but

have no marks of the circumstances the writer was in at the time he wrote. Nor any

reflections peculiarly suited to the times and circumstances.}

As he was of no great depth in Reasoning he would be glad to set off by the ornament

of language what was deficient in matter. | This with the refinement of his temper

directed <him> to make choise of a pompous, grand and ornate Stile. His acquaintance

with the ancients inclined him to imitate them; and if he had any one particularly in

view it was Plato. As he copied him in his Theology and in a great measure in his

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philosophy so he seems to have copyed his Stile and manner also, tempering it in the

same manner so as to make it more suitable to the times he lived in. Theocles in his

Rhapsody

is exactly copied from Socrates. But as Socrates humour is often too coarse

and his sarcasms too biting for this age he has softend him in this respect and made his

| Theocles altogether polite and his wit such as suits the character of a gentleman.

{He has indeed succeeded better in this attempt to form a stile than we could have

expected and much better than any one could do in an attem<pt> to form a plan of

behaviour. The writer may review and correct anything that is not suitable to the

character he designs to maintain. But in Common life many accidents would occurr

which would be apt to cause him loose his assumed character and if they are not

immediately catched there is no remedy.

The character which a writer assumes he is not oblidged on any occasion to maintain

without prymeditation, but many Incidents happen in common Life to which if the

manners are not conformed in a moment the affectation will be betrayed}

Polite dignity is the character he aimed at, and as this seems to be best supported by a

grand and pompous diction that was the Stile he made choise of. This he carried so far

that when the subject was far from being grand, his stile is as pompous as in the most

sublime subjects.—The chief ornament of Language he studied was that of a uniform

cadence and this he often does

in contradiction to precision and propriety, which are

surely of greater consequence. {He has this so much in view that he often makes the

one member of his sentence an echo to the other and often

brings in a whole string of

Synonymes to make the members end uniformly.}

{Socrates always in his longer discourses points out distinctly his transitions from one

subject to an other. But as this looked too formal, he chose to do this by the more polite

and easy manner of beginning a new paragraph, and he is at pains to tell us that he had

reasons for his order even <tho> we

can perceive no connection.

This is the manner of making Transitions which has come so much in Vogue in Modern

times; whatever advantages it may have in Elegance in perspicuity it falls short.

Socrates in Plato is always made to say: having considered this thing we are next to

consider such another thing.}

In the Choise of his subject he

was allmost the same as Lucian. The design of both was

to overthrow the present fabric of Theology and Philosophy but they differed in this: |

Lucian had no design of erecting an other in its place. Whereas Shaftesbury not only

designed to <destroy> the Structure but to build a new Aedifice of his own in its room.

He judged, and indeed he judged rightly that this destruction would be easier

accomplished and more to the taste of the times by riducule than by confutation. But

even in those works where he designs to banter and laugh at his adversary he does it

with the same

pompous diction as he uses in other works. By this means he hardly

ever makes us laugh, only in two places in the whole characteristicks, one in the

introduction to

and the other in his description of a match at football a little after. His

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Similles and metephors are often very ingenious but are spun out to such a | <length>

as is

tiresome both to himself and his readers {as that of the Indian.} In his Treatise

where he ridicules Mr Hobbs there is not one passage which would make us laugh. Mr

Hobbs book would make us laugh but his ridicule of it would never affect us.

{As all Copiators

exceed the Original, as a painting may be known to be a copy from

being larger than that from which they are copies, so those who affect either in

behaviour or in Stile carry their imitation too far. One who affects to be merry always

laughs the loudest and longest of any in the company. In the same manner as

Shaftesbury affects to be pompous, he often

exceeds and applies a grand diction to

subjects of a very different kind. A Stranger who did not understand the language would

imagine the most trivial subjects to <be> something very sublime from the manner and

sound of his periods.}

This Nobleman

sometimes allows himself even to run into Burlesque, his Pompous Stile

and humourous thoughts joined together make it almost unavoidable. But this species

of Ridicule is always buffoonish and he surely falls greatly off from the Polite dignity he

studies to maintain, when he allows himself a species of wit that is greatly beneath the

character of a gentleman.—Nay this strenuous advocate for the re<finement> and

justness of thought even condescends now and then to make use of a pun and those of

the silliest kind as where

| {When Shaftesbury is disposed to be in a Rapture it is always unbounded, overstretcht

and unsupported by the appearance of Reason, as for instance in his address to the Sun

in his Rhapsody

in which address not one Circumstan<c>e is mentioned which ought

to excite Rationall Admiration. Compare this with the Most Rapturous Passage in all

Virgil, his Encomion on Rurall Life in the Georgicks.

O Fortunati nimium sua si bona norunt

Agricolae etc. etc.

Here every circumstance, every word, has an energy and force in displaying the felicity

of the Country and Deprecating the Tinsel and Tumult of a Town Life. Virgil when he is

disposed to be in a transport does not run mad}

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 10; the date must be 15 December

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[

] last six words replace But as their are not natur

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[1 ] Shaftesbury’s letters were published in 1716 and 1721.

[

] particular character which he always deleted

[

] And as deleted

[

] and deleted

[

] v. 139 makes false start: The fine arts and matters of taste and imagination are w

[

] way deleted

[

] yet deleted

[2 ] He was member for Poole 1695–8. In the House of Lords he ardently supported the

Whig cause, and despite illness attended the partition treaty debate, travelling from

Somerset in one day at Lord Somers’s summons. Alone he urged dissolution in the last

year of William’s reign. He was the author of the anonymous Paradoxes of State relative

to the present juncture . . . chiefly grounded on His Majesty’s princely, pious and most

gracious speech [i.e. on 31 Dec. 1701] (1702).

[3 ]

That Shaftesbury’s failure to keep up with recent advances in Natural Philosophy

was criticised by Smith will not surprise readers of the latter’s Letter to the Edinburgh

Review of 1756 (EPS 242–54).

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[4 ] The Moralists, a Philosophical Rhapsody (1709), Treatise v in Characteristicks

(1711).

[

] the last two paragraphs He has . . . betrayed begin n v.144 opposite grand and

ornate Stile; the second paragraph is in Hand B

[

] when deleted

[

] makes deleted

[

] on v.145 interpolations see Introduction, p. 5

[

] changed from tho

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] has deleted

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] gravity and [blank] as wh deleted

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] blank of ten letters in MS

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] tediou deleted

[5 ] Miscellaneous Reflections, I.i. (Characteristicks, Treatise vi, 1711). Ibid. I.ii,

philosophical controversy compared to a football match. Ibid. V.iii, the Indian. The

Moralists, II.iv, ridicule of Hobbes; cf. III.i, and Sensus Communis: An Essay on the

freedom of Wit and Humour (1709), Treatise ii in Characteristicks, II.i.

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[6 ]

The Moralists, III.i.

[7 ]

Georgics, ii.458–9: read ‘O fortunatos . . . norint / Agricolas’.

[

] Hand B

LECTURE. 12.

Friday. Decr. 17. 1762.

OF COMPOSITION

Before we

enter on the different parts and Species of Composition it will be proper to

acquaint you with the method in which we are to proceed.

Every discourse proposes either barely to relate some fact, or to prove some

proposition. In the first [is the end]

the discourse is called a narrative one. The latter is

the foundation of two Sorts of Discourse: The Didactick and the Rhetoricall.

The former

proposes to put before us the arguments on both sides of the question in their true

light, giving each its proper degree of influence, and has it in view to perswade no

farther than the arguments

themselves appear

convincing. The Rhetoricall again

endeavours by all means to perswade us; and for this purpose it magnifies all the

arguments on the one side | and diminishes or conceals those that might be brought on

the side conterary to that which it is designed that we should favour. Persuasion

which

is the primary design in the Rhetoricall is but the secondary design in the Didactick. It

endeavours to persuade us only so far as the strength of the arguments is convincing,

instruction is the main End. In the other Persuasion is the main design and Instruction is

considered only so far as it is subservient to

perswasion, and no farther.

{One who was to give an account of any controverted point, as of the disputes about

the rights of two princes to a throne, would state the claims of each in the clearest light,

and shew their severall foundations in the customs and constitution of the country

without being or at least appearing to be any way inclined to the one more than the

other. But if one was to plead the Cause of one of the contending parties before some

supreme court or another Prince (as Edward was made the Judge betwixt Bruce and

Baliol)

he would not probably think it his business, nor would it be his duty, to

lay the

cause open before him, he would give all the strength he could to those arguments that

supported his side and soften or pass over with little attention those which made against

him.}

There are two different Sorts of facts, one externall, consisting of the transactions that

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pass without us, and the other internall, towit the thoughts

sentiments or designs of

men, which pass in their minds. The

Design of History, compounded of both of

th<ese> is to relate the remarkable

transactions | that pass in different nations, and

the designs, motives and views of

the most remarkable men in those times, so far as

they are necessary to explain the great changes and revolutions of States which it is

intended to relate.

In our observations on this I shall observe the following division. 1

I shall consider

what facts are proper to be narrated. 2

dly

In what maner. 3

dly

How they are to be

arranged. 4th In what stile these may be most conveniently expressed. 5

thly

and lastly

What writers have succeeded

most happily in all these branches. {As there are two

kind<s> of objects which may become the subject of description I shall consider first

the Description of Simple Objects, first of Simple Visible objects, then of Simple Invisible

objects. Then we shall consider the description of compound Visible objects as of an

Action; next of compound invisible objects as a character; and last of all of the

Historicall Style or description of Actions and Characters.—In treating of which I shall

observe 5 things etc.}

{We shall then proceed to Didactick and Rhetoricall

compositions}

The Distinction made by the ancients [was] came pretty nearly to the same. They

divided Eloqu|ence into three Parts, according to the three Species which were most in

the use amongst them. The first they called the Demonstrative, 2

Deliberative; and 3

Judicial.

{It is rather reverence for antiquity than any great regard for the Beauty or

usefullness of the thing itself which makes me mention the Antient divisions of

Rhetorick}

The demonstrative is so called not because it was that sort which is used in

mathematicall demonstrations but because it was chiefly designed to Demonstrate or

Point out the Eloquence of the Orator. This was one of the most early sorts of

Eloquence. Discourses of this kind were merely for ostentation delivered in the

assemblies of the whole People, and were thence called πανηγυρικοι

The Subjects of

such discourses were generally

the Praises or the discommendation of some particular

persons, communities or actions, exhorting the people to or deterring them from some

particular conduct. As it was more safe to commend than discommend men or actions,

these discourses generally turned

that way, and hence what we call | Elogiums came to

be denominated by the name of Panagerick.

The Deliberative was such as they used in their councils and assemblies on matters of

Consequence to the State; and the Judicial was that used in proceedings before a court

of Justice.

In treating of this dis<course I shall> proceed in it in the same order as I proposed to

follow when I come to treat of historicall discourses. 1

of the Facts, 2

the manner of

treating them, 3

the arrangement, 4

The Stile, and 5

The Writers.

{We shall begin with the historicall, and the most simple part of it is the narration of

one simple fact. These are either externall or internall. After having explained their

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difference we proceed to shew how they are to be expressed, in what order they are to

be arranged and in what expressions the idea of them will be best conveyed. Then we

shall treat of the expressing a sentiment, and last of all of describing a character.

History comprehends all these and we shall therefore treat of it next.

}

First then we are to treat of the facts that are to be described or related. These as we

observed are either externall or internall. | We shall begin with the first as most Simple

and easily conceived. Mr Addison observes that

fact<s> may be agreable either from

their being grand, new or beautifull.

As those facts

that are agreable will be apt to

make the greatest impression we shall consider them first and then we can easily apply

the rules laid down for them to objects of other kinds. The Idea <of> a fact

that is

grand may be conveyed

in two ways, either by describing it and enumerating various

particulars that concern it or by relating the effect that it has on those who behold it.

{The first of these viz. describing the thing itself by its Parts I call, for it is necessary to

give names to things, direct description, the other indirect.}

Milton

makes use of the

first method

in his description of Paradise, and of the 2

in the account Adam gives the

angel of the effect Eves presence had on him.

He makes use of the first again where he

described the view which Satan had of the burning | lake. Shakespear again uses the 2

Manner in the description of Dover Cliff in King Lear.

The manner of Describing an object

often makes it agreable when there is nothing in

the Object that is so.—There would surely <be> nothing agreable in a picture of a

dunghil, neither is the object agreable nor can there be anything extraordinary in

painting it. {remember mechanicall part whi} For the same reason it would be

altogether unsufferable in prose. It might be tollerable if it was done in good language

and flowing verses as it would shew the art of the writer. It might please still more if

this was done in Burlesque, but neither here does the pleasure arise from the object

itself but from the consideration of the ingenuity

of the artist in turning grand and

sublime expressions to describe | such an object in an accurate manner. Even when

there is no burlesque the applying grand expressions or such as seem not easily

applicable to the subject please us from the same cause. Thus Mr Greys[’s]

description

of the appearance of Harlequin on the Stage

will always be agreable. The art required

in adapting the Stile and manner and versification of Spencer to

an object so different

gives us a great opinion of the capacity and skill of the writer. Had it been in prose there

would have been nothing agreable in it as all the art of the author in which alone the

beauty of it consists would have been lost.

New objects are never agreable in description merely from being new. There must be

something | else

in them than mere novelty before they can please us much. New

objects may have somewhat agreable when we

realy behold them and have them

present before us, because then they may strike us with wonder

; The whole object is

at once conceived; But in Discriptions, the Idea is presented by degrees; The object

opens slowly up so that the Surprise cannot be great at the novelty of the object. Mr

Addison observes that there is no author who abounds <more> in descriptions of this

Sort than Ovid.

In his meta<mor>pho[r]ses

every change that happens

is described

in all its stages; we hear of men with the heads and paws of Bears, women who are

innin

ke r

t in the

their

s s

tin

int

ves.

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155

156

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Mr Addison seems to be pleased with these descriptions, | but to me

they don’t at all

seem pleasing, both for the reason I already mentioned, and because they are so very

much out of the common course of nature as to shock

us by their incredibility. For my

part, when I see Tithonus

in a picture with the wings and legs of grashopper, I feel no

pleasure at seeing such an unnaturall and inconceivable object. Novelty indeed joined to

any other quality that makes an object agreable heightens the pleasure we feel in the

description of it.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 11

[

] shall deleted; Before inserted later

[

] added above line

[1 ]

See i.152 below, and Introduction, p. 14.

[

] realy (?) deleted

[

] replaces lead us to

[

] replaces That

[

] their deleted

[2 ] Interest in the Great Cause (1292) in early eighteenth–century Scotland is shown

by among other things the popularity of John Harvey’s epic The Life of Robert Bruce,

King of Scots (1729: reprinted several times, in 1769 as The Bruciad: an epic poem).

Documents in the Cause: Edward I and the Throne of Scotland, ed. E. L. G. Stones and

G. G. Simpson (1978).

[

] give deleted

[

] We shall begin with the narative or Historicall deleted

[

] or deleted

[

] Subje deleted

[

] fact deleted

[

] those men who were concerned in bringing about deleted

[

] best in those deleted

[

] Hand B. top of v.150: perhaps belongs after intended to relate at end of previous

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paragraph

[

] Hand B, at top of v.151

[

] MS Jundicall

[

] Hand B

[

] As deleted

[

] either deleted

[

] on deleted

[

] I shall follow this order in deleted; this dis is followed by one and a half blank lines,

then and begin with the demonstrative, as it the most Simple and deleted

[

] ut supra added at foot

[

] a deleted

[3 ] Spectator, 412: ‘the Sight of what is Great, Uncommon, or Beautiful’ Ibid. 413: the

pleasing imaginative effects of the ‘Great, New, or Beautiful’ Cf. the opening sections of

Astronomy (EPS 33–47) on wonder, surprise and admiration.

[

] replaces objects

[

] replaces An Object (not deleted)

[

] replaces described

[

] Hand B

[4 ]

Paradise Lost, iv.205 ff. (but it is Eden ‘viewed’ by its enemy Satan); viii.596 ff.;

i.59 ff.

[

] replaces kind

[

] blank of six letters in MS

[5 ] King Lear, IV.vi.11 24; but the imagined view aims at an effect on Gloucester. The

description was much discussed in the eighteenth century, e.g. by Johnson (Boswell’s

Life, ed. Hill–Powell ii.87); Addison, Taler 117.

[

] is of deleted

[

] replaces art

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[

] Hand B inserted Greys in Hand A’s blank ending s

[6 ]

Not Grey or Gray. It might be an aural error for Richard Graves (1715–1804),

whose friend William Shenstone revived the fashion of Spenserian imitation with The

Schoolmistress (first version 1737) and wrote on the subject in letters to Graves in the

1740s. But the poems by Graves in Dodsley’s Collection of Poems iv and v (1755–8)

include nothing of this sort.—Harlequin appears in innumerable plays and pantomimes

of the time.

[

] such a su deleted

[

] the o deleted

[

] broibe (?) deleted

[

] MS they

[

] ; and deleted

[7 ] Spectator 417 defines the art of Ovid in the Metamorphoses as the continuous and

well–timed exploitation of novelty; cf. Addison’s notes on his translation of

Metamorphoses ii–iii in Works (Bohn edn), i. 139–53.

[

] give deleted

[

] to t deleted

[

] MS these

[8 ] Examples commented on by Addison: Met. ii.477 (Callisto changed to a bear by

jealous Juno, then by Jupiter to a constellation named the Bear); ii.367 ff. (Cycnus to

swan); ii.657 ff. (Ocyrrhoe to mare); ii.346 (Phaeton’s sisters the Heliades), i.548 ff.

(Daphne), also x.489 (Myrrha), all transformations to trees; ii.542ff. (Coronis to raven);

iii.198 ff. (Actaeon to stag).

[

] but to me replaces for my part

[

] our belief deleted

[9 ] Tithonus changed by his love Eos (the Dawn) to a grasshopper as the only way of

releasing him from shrunken decrepitude as a man, since she had conferred immortality

on him: see J. G. Fraser’s note to Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, III.xii.4 ff. on the scholiast to

Iliad, xi.1 (LCL ii.43). Pictures such as Smith might have seen have not been identified.

[

] v.159 is blank

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LECTURE. 13

Mr Smith.

Monday Dcr 20 1762

That way of expressing any quality of

an object which does it by describing the severall

parts that constitute the quality we want to express, may be called the direct method.

When, again, we do it by describing the effects this quality produces on those who

behold it, may be called the indirect method. This latter in most cases is by far the best.

We see accordingly Shakespeares descriptions are greatly more animated than those of

Spenser. Shakespeare as he wrote in Dialogues had it always in his power to make the

persons of the Dialogue relate the effects any object had upon them. Spenser describes

every thing directly,

and has in adhering to this plan described severall objects

direc<t>ly which no other author attempted in that manner. {Spenser was constrained

to take this method because he dealt in Allegoricall Personages without Existence or

form but what he conferred on them}

Pindar, Homer and Milton

never attempt to

describe musick | directly, they allways do it by relating the effects it produced on some

other creatures, Pindar

relates the effects it had not only on the earthly beings but

even goes to the Heavens and to Tartarus for objects that might strengthen his

description. {Mr Hervey

has imitated the passage here mentioned in an extremely

beautifull manner

but tho the circumstances are as well or perhaps better pointed out

than in Pindar yet one chief beauty is lost, by his ommitting the effects of the Musick on

Jupiter himself, the thunder bolt falling from his hand and the eagle[s] settling herself at

that particular moment on his hand. In the merchant of Venice

Musick is described by

the effects it produces. The man that hath not musick in himself}

But this which none

of these Great men ever attempted Spencer has not only attempted but has succeeded

: In the account of the knight of temperance destroying the bower of bliss.

The describing or expressing internall invisible objects is a matter of far greater

difficulty. One would imagine that it would be easy to express an externall one in either

of the forementioned ways; But we find it requires no inconsiderable degree of skill to

accomplish this into considerable perfection. | But whatever difficulty there is in

expressing the externall objects that are the objects of our senses; there must be far

greater in describing the internal ones, which pass within the mind itself and are the

object of none of our senses. We have here no parts into which we can seperate them

nor any by describing which we can convey the notion we desire. {The easiest way of

describing an object is by its parts, how then describe those which have no parts}

The causes of these internall facts, or objects are in like manner either internall or

externall. The internall are such dispositions of mind as fit one for that certain passion

or affection of mind; and the externall are such objects as produce these effects on a

mind so disposed. {There can be but two ways of describing them, by the Effects they

produce either on the Body or the mind: both these are indirect}

A mind not ruffled by

any violent passions, but calm and tollerably serene; filled with some degree of joy not

so great as to withdraw the attention, is that | state of mind in which one is most

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disposed to admiration. Tis in this state the poets have been when they have burst out

into those Raptorous expression<s> on the pleasures of a Country life. The Calme

tranquill scene it affords would then be most agreable. If any beautifull object is

presented to one in these circumstances, he is fixt in the place he was in, his arms fall

down loose by his sides, or if the emotion is very violent are laid across his breast, he

leans forwards and stretches out his neck, with his eyes fixt on the object and his mouth

a little opened. The

affection he feels is mixt with some degree of desire and hope

towards the object and this inclines to draw nearer towards

it, imagining | that by

coming nearer towards it he will enjoy it in greater perfection. {A Cottage Seen at a

Certain distance is an agreable object and we are apt to Suppose the Inhabitants of a

Cottage (perhaps contrary to Experience) inno<c>ent and happy}

This

affection is

most apt to take place in those of an easy pleased temper; but not in one where vanity

or selfconceit is predominant; such persons are too much engaged with themselves to

be greatly affected with other objects.

Any new object affects one with surprise particularly if it be great and important. This

affection does not as the other fix the person to his place but makes him start back, his

hands streatched out and his eyes staring. The turn of mind most fitted to this is when

If the Object is grand he is fixt to his place, but does not as in the first case desire to

approach the object, he rather inclines to draw back. This is what we properly call

admiration. It does not partake of hope or desire but rather of a reverential awe and

respect, that gives one a fear of dis|pleasing. {Surprise is most violent on their first

beholding the object, but admiration gradually increases, comes to its greatest height

and again decreases.} The turn of mind that inclines one most to this is

Other passions affect the body still more violently and distort it in different ways. We do

not mean that all these should be described but only such as are most striking and

distinguishing.

The different passions all proceed in like manner from different states of

mind and outward circumstances. But it would be both endless and useless to go thro’

all these different affections and passions in this manner. It would be endless, because

tho the simple passions are

of no great number, yet these are so compounded in

different manners as to make a number of mixt ones almost infinite. It would be

useless, for tho we | had gone thro all the different affections yet the difference of

character and age and circumstances of the person would so vary the affects that our

rules would not be at all applicable. Grief is the passion that affects Mezentius, Evander

and the mother of Euryalus,

but its effects on them are very different. Mezentiuss

the same time

{In Mezentius the Effect it produces on a ferocious Tyrant abandond by

his Subjects, pursued by the Venegance of heaven, is a contumacious fury and despair.

The Grief of Evander was perfect Weakness such as naturally became an old man who

had lived in Innocence and Simplicity}

Evander is affected with a plain simple grief,

The mother of Euryalus displays a sort of vivacity in her grief

common to that sex after

they have passed a certain age; their passions

seem then (conterary to what happens

to men) to have acquired greater strength and accuteness than they had before. | {This

diversity of the same affection in different characters is finely instanced in the

Sentiments of our first Parents on quitting Paradise

—Eve she regrets Leaving the

flowers and Walks and chief the Nuptial Bower—Adam in a very sublime passage the

Scenes where he had conversed with God}

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The addition of certain objects tending to the same point are often of great benefit. The

L’allegro of Milton and his Il penseroso are

set out to great advantage by the various

additional personages joined in the Scene.—These additionall objects may be of three

kinds, 1

such as are immediately effected by the principall objects and tend to give

strength to the design in View. 2

dly

Such as are not produced by the principall object

but are connected with it and are of the same kind and tend to produce the same

emotion and 3

dly

Such as neither are affected by the object nor are connected with it,

but are

some way suitable to the main design and tend to produce the same emotion.

When Vi<rgil>

describes the tumbling of a torrent down a Rock | he strengthens the

Picture by describing a traveller astonished and surprised on

hearing it below him.

The Rocks themselv<es> broken, steep, and hanging over the ground is an object very

agreable in a country scene. Titian often added a goat climbing on these rocks to his

pleasant

landscapes; this added greatly to the agreablenes of the Rocks,

but when he

drew the Shepherd lying along on the ground and diverting himself with beholding its

motions, he made a great addition to the mirth and pleasure of the piece. The Humming

of a swarm of Bees and the cooing of a turtle give us ideas agreable and soothing, but

this is greatly hightned when Virgil describes Meliboeus

lulled a sleep by their

soothing sound. These are examples | of the first kind where the additionall objects are

affected by the principall one.

(We may observe here that a landscape is where the

chief object is the innanimate or irrationall part, and a historicall where the human

figures are designed chiefly to attract our attention.) The 2

Method is that which Milton

makes use of in his L’allegro. The Mi<l>kmaid singing along, and the mower sharping

his Scythe

etc. do not immediately respect the landscape

described but are

connected with it and tend to excite the same

emotion. {Salvator} Rosa

has drawn

many Landscapes

in which the Rocks, Cascades, Woods and Mountains make | objects.

Here he often places a philosopher meditating under the shade of the

mountain, a

magician at the mouth of a cavern, and a Hermit amidst the desarts and Forests. Here

neither the Philosop<h>er is contemplating the mountain, the magician the cavern, nor

the Hermit the Desert. But these objects are connected together and excite the same

emotion. {A Philosopher Reading on a Book}

The Philosopher adds to the awfull

majestick appearance of the mountain, the magician to the Gloomy horror of the

Cavern. The Hermit tends to excite in a strong degree the emotions we are apt to

conceive at the sight of a desert.—Solitude gives us an idea of something | very awfull,

we imagine that some Superior beings are generally present in such places, and when

we do not see them we conceive them to <be> present tho invisible. The fairies,

Nymphs, Fawns, Satyrs, Dryads and such divinities were all inhabitants of the

Forest.

{If they are ever brought into the City it is in the Silence of the Night which is a species

of Solitude}

In such places all communication with superior beings is conceived to be

had; Propheticall inspirations and Revelations have all been given in solitude. It was not

in the Palaces of Troy but on the Solitary mountain of Ida that the Goddesses are said to

have presented themselves to Paris. By this means Hermits and other religious persons

are fit additions to such solitary places where we would have an awfull and gloomy

emotion

excited.

{Poussin in his night piece has added the story of Pyr<amus> and Thisbe, as of the

same sort with the rest, but here there is no connection and the unsuitableness renders

the effect not very agreable. The same he has done in

others where he has brought in

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170

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the history of Phocion. This sort where there is no connection seems proper in historicall

paintings because

}

| {We shall now give some generall rules for the description of Objects and 1

The

whole

} of the objects described should tend to excite the same emotion otherwise the

end will not be answered. Where the chief design is to excite mirth and chearfullness

nothing should be brought in that is gloomy or horrible, and on the other hand where

we would raise awfull grand sentiments the whole must tend that way. Miltons L alleg

and Il p {Penseroso}

answer exactly to this rule. Thomson seems frequently to have

broke throw it. The Plan he laid down of giving an account of the Seasons often lead

him

to describe objects of different and conterary natures. By which means his

descriptions tho sometimes good enough lose their effect, in raising any strong

emotion.

| 2

Another thing that is necessary is that the description should be short and not

taedious by its length. But here there is a difficulty, to attain this conciseness and at the

same time bring in those circumstances which give a description vivaciety and force.

This may often be accomplished by picking out some of the most curious and | striking

circumstances, which may suggest the others to the reader. This Virgil has done

excellently in the description of the death of an Argive commander where he says

Sternitur

et Dulces moriens meminiscitur Argos—A Poet of less merit would have made

him express all the tender sentiments this naturally suggests to the reader

. This

Thomson has done in the description of the man dying in the Snow.

| {3

A 3

Direction may be, that, We should not only

make our circumstances all of a

piece, but it is often proper to Choose out some niece and Curious ones. A Painter in

Drawing a fruit

makes the figure very striking if he not only gives it the form and

Colour but also represents the fine down with which it is covered. The Dew on Flowers in

the same manner gives the figure a striking resemblance. In the same manner in

description we ought to choose out some minute circumstances which concur in the

general emotion we would excite and at the same time but little attended to. Such

circumstances are always attended with a very con<si>derable effect.}

Conciseness in the expression may also be attained consistently with the Strength of the

imagery if every member of a sentence represent one | at least and if possible two or

three different Circumstances. This makes the description still more lively. Thus in

Milton Il pen and L’all almost every word tends to convey some idea suited to the

Subject, and the same may be seen in Virgils account of the horse dying in the

Murrian.

{Another direction is that the Circumstance Pointed out be a Curious one, and if such as

is not subject to common observation then it will be sure to strike. Thus we are greatly

pleased with those Paintings of flowers or fruits which represent the down or the dew,

which is not what is commonly observed altho to it the fruit and flowers owe their

Lustre}

172

173

174

v.172

175

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ENDNOTES

[

] MS 12

[

] last four words replace describing

[1 ]

This ignores (what would be relevant to Smith’s distinction) Spenser’s habit of

presenting objects as observed by a particular onlooker; hence the prominence of verbs

like sees and seems, and the frequent (dramatic and moral) discrepancy between

appearance and reality in The Faerie Queene.

[

] Hand B

[2 ] On Milton, exceptions might be the conclusion of L’Allegro, the canzone At a

Solemn Music, or celestial music at various points in Paradise Lost. See S. Spaeth,

Milton’s Knowledge of Music (Princeton 1913).

[3 ] Pythian Ode, i.1 ff.

[4 ]

John Harvey (see above, i.150 n.2), A collection of miscellany poems and letters,

comical and serious (1726), 62–4, ‘To Sir Richard Steele’.

[

] last five words replace very excellently

[5 ] V.i.71–88.

[

] second sentence is a later addition by Hand A, the third by Hand B

[

] it deleted

[6 ]

The Faerie Queene, II.xii.70–1. Guyon’s destruction of the Bower of Bliss follows,

83 ff.

[

] Hand B

[

] Hand B

[

] passion deleted

[

] numbers written above change the original order hope and desire

[

] in hopes deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] passion deleted

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[

] blank of six letters in MS

[

] blank of two and a half lines in MS

[

] The no deleted

[

] replaces be

[7 ]

Aeneid, x.833–908; on Mezentius’ hateful character, viii.481 ff. Evander: xi.148–

81. The dead Euryalus apostrophised by his grieving mother: ix.475–502.

[

] is that of one deleted

[

] ra (for ‘rages’?), then almost two lines blank

[

] blank of six letters in MS

[

] Hand B

[

] conterary to deleted

[

] their passions replaces they then

[8 ] Paradise Lost, xi.268–85 and 315–29 respectively.

[

] Hand B

[

] all deleted

[

] of the deleted

[

] blank in MS

[

] written over at

[9 ] Perhaps Aeneid, ii.304–8: but ‘stupet inscius . . . pastor’, not ‘viator’. The simile

imitates Iliad iv.452 ff.

[

] objects deleted

[

] last nine words replace of itself is a pleasant object

[10 ]

Eclogues, i.54–6.

[

] For deleted

[11 ]

L’Allegro, 65–6.

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] bef deleted

[

] of the deleted

[

] idea deleted

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] of deleted

[

] object deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] des deleted

[

] If . . . is in Hand A the rest in Hand B

[

] of deleted

[

] and tend to pro wrongly deleted

[

] replaces with

[

] –cause stands alone at top of v.171 blank of six letters in MS

[

] 1

The whole repeated at beginning of 172

[

] Hand B

[

] brought deleted

[

] in deleted

[

] They ought all to have been arranged in such an order as not to have contrasted

one another but tended to the same end at top of 173, deleted, with five blank lines

before 2

Another thing that is. . . . .

[

] in humum deleted

[12 ] Wounding of Antores; Aeneid, x.781–2 reads

sternitur infelix alieno vulnere, caelumque

aspicit et dulcis moriens reminiscitur Argos.

[13 ]

Seasons, Winter, 276–317 (as in 1730–46 editions).

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[

] choose out deleted

[

] ine deleted

[

] v.172 note is keyed in after in the Snow by a caret

[14 ] Georgics, iii.498–502. Cf. the ox’s death at iii.515 ff.

[

] Hand B, bottom half of 175

|LECTURE. 14

Mr Smith.

Wednesday Decr. 22

1762

Having given some generall rules for the description of objects, I shall now proceed to

give some particular rules for the description of different sorts of objects. These are

indeed the former applied to particular cases, and are no more than common sense

dictates to any man tho’ he had never heard there was such a rule.

Objects are either corporeal or incorporeal.—Corporeal objects are, again, either

Naturall or Artificial. Natural objects may be considered as of two Sorts. Either 1

Such

as exist compleatly at the same time, or 2

Such as subsist in a succession of incidents.

. In describing such Natural

objects as exist altogether at the same moment as

Prospects, it is not necessary that we should arrange the objects, but | describe them in

any order we find easiest. Milton does this in his Description of Paradise

and in his

L’allegro and Il penseroso. When authors attempt to arrange the objects in such

descriptions, the reader endeavours to arrange them in the

same manner in the idea

he forms of the thing described, and is always at a loss to follow it out, as no words can

convey an accurate idea of the arrangement of objects unless they be assisted by a

Plan. {Such descriptions Require all the attention and Exertion of Mind which is required

by a Mathematicall Demonstration}

. Pliny has given us a Description of his Villa

in this

manner, with great minuteness. But notwithstanding his great exactness his

commentators are not at all agreed with regard to the situation of the severall objects

described, each has formed a different plan according to the way in which he arranged

them in his mind. And I believe if any unprejudized | person were to read the

description he would form an arrangement

of the severall objects in his mind, different

from what either of them has given us. {The later Sophists often make use of such

descriptions as these. As Achilles Tatius

etc. They deal very much in description and tell

you that on the Right hand was a wood, on the Left a rock and so on}

Mr Balzac

has in imitation of Pliny given us an account of his Villa and the

ement

f the sever

obj

ects in it.

elieve th

t if it

e Mr B

te t

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ancient and have commentators, they won’t agree a whit better than Plinys have done.

The Earl of Buckingham has given a very accurate description of his house and Gardens

in a letter to Mr Pope.

Yet tho it be very exact and done in an extremely lively maner,

any one who sees Buckingham house will find it very different from the idea he had

formed from the de|scription.

When therefore we describe a naturall object which can be comprehended in one view

we need not be at great pains with regard to the arangement as the reader will arrange

them to himself in the manner which suits his taste best; and will not be perplex’d by

the arrangement

we have given, which will never be sufficient without the assistance of

a Plan to give a just notion of the Thing Described.

If the

Circumstances regarding the object to be described are not existent in the

same moment, we should deliver them in the same succession as that

they existed in.

As Virgill does in his Description of the Murrain.

This is evident otherwise the order

would impose on the Reader.

| 3

Artificial objects are either intirely the contrivance of men or they are made in

imitation of the works of nature. In describing the former {I mean in Poetical

descriptions} it is much better to follow the indirect than the Direct description. We form

a much better idea of these works from the effects they have on the beholder than by

any description of their severall parts. Mr Addison has described St Peters

at Rome in

this manner, and we form a more distinct notion of the size and proportions <of> that

Building from his account than if he had gone to describe each part and given us the

most exact dimensions. {without a plan}

4 On the other hand if the objects are imitations of nature they can not be described too

minutely | for it is in the exact Symetry and the stableness

of the severall parts that

the excellence of such productions consist. Lucians description of Appelles’s

Painting

of the marriage of Alexander and Roxana is admirable in this way, he gives us a

compleat notion of the whole piece. But if he had wrote

on purpose to describe that

picture, and had not mentioned <it> only to illustrate another subject he would (as he

himself hints) have entered much more minutely in to the severall parts and not only

given us an account of the generall scheme of the piece, but of the chief Lines and

Colouring of every figure in it.

5 Internall objects as passions and affections can be well described only by their effects;

these again either internall | or externall.—The best Rule that can <be> given in this

head seems to be that if the passion is very violent and agitates the person to any high

degree, the best method is to describe it by the externall effects it produces, and these

ought to be enumerated pretty fully and in the most striking and expressive manner.

{The Sentiments which a Violent Passion excites in the mind are too tumultuous and

rapid for your description to keep pace with}

—On the other hand when the passion is

less violent we must have recourse to the internall effects; the externall ones are not

strong enough nor sufficiently remarkable to point out the state of the persons mind

and

characterise the passion he feels.—The enumeration of circumstances also in this

case should neither be very full nor very particular. One or two well chosen

often are

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181

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more expressive than a greater number less striking.—Virgill has | described the passion

of Dido in the departure of Æneas in a very <different manner>

from that of Æneas on

the same occasion.

Her

bitter anguish is admirably pointed

out by a great variety of

circumstances all externall and very nicely chosen. The Grief of Æneas again as he does

not seem to have been so deeply affected is expressed by a few well chosen

circumstances, and these all internall. The Cause of the Passion may sometimes be

brought in to advantage but is seldom sufficient to characterise it without the addition of

some of its effects.

Homer and Virgil both describe the Joy of Latona on seeing her daughter preferred to

other Oreads,

by a single expression, and this

readily suggests the state of mind she

was in.— | We may here observe that Virgils description is somewhat more exact than

Homers.

That author barely says she

γεγηθεν ρηνα an expression he uses to denote

any kind of joy, and often applies in a very different sense as when he says γεγηθεν δε

ποιµην. Virgil again points out in a very delicate manner the kind of joy she fel<t>.

Those nice and delicate emotions were either not greatly felt or not much attended to

the age of the Greek Poet.

6. In Describing naturall objects we should not introduce two circumstances the one of

which is included in the other. {Such Circumstances as necessarily Suggest one another

may bee called Synonymes}

The modern Sophists as Hercules Statius

and

Apuleius

etc. are often guilty of this

. They will tell us that a man who leant forwards | had one

foot placed before another, if he leant his head to one Side [to one Side,] they tell us he

leant his body to the other.

The latter of these circumstances is included in the other

and would be easily conceived from it. They were probably led to this manner of

description by seeing that those authors whose descriptions were most

admired

followed it. But they did not consider that those authors described imitations of nature

and not natural objects. This last species of writing was greatly <used>

in the time of

Trajan and the Antonines; and in it as we observed before the excellency <is> in

relating every particular, as it is in the exactness and symmetry of them that the

excellence of the workmanship consists.

| The Abbe du Bos

in his description of the Statue of the slave who discovered the

conspiracy amongst the Romans, describes every particular attitude; But if he had been

to describe the Posture of the Slave himself, he would have told us that he stood

listening to what he heard them talking of, but at the same time so as

to seem minding

his work tho in reality he had given it up for that time.

7. We ought not only to avoid these circumstances that include one another which we

may call synonymous circumstances but also those <that> are conterary to the nature

of the object we would describe. Thus when a modern Poet

describes the appearance of

a mountain to those | who saw it at a distance from Sea, he tells us they saw it appear

black, which could not be the real appearance of a mountain at a distance as it is tinged

of a bluish white by the Colour of the atmosphere.—Those who think themselves bound

to describe when they are very ill

qualified and know little of the object they would

describe are most apt to fall into this error.

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184

185

186

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It would appear needless to guard you against using

epithets that are contradictory

or not applicable to the object, if we did not find that some of the Greatest English

writers have fallen into it, in many places. Mr Pope frequently applies adjectives to |

substantives with which they can not at all agree, as when he speaks of the brown

horror of the groves

{deepens the murmurs of the falling floods

and shades a browner horror ore the Woods}

Brown joined to horror conveys no idea at all.—Thomson is often guilty of this fault and

Shakespeare almost continually.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 13

[

] replaces Corporeal

[1 ] Paradise Lost. iv.205 ff. Cf. i.154 n.4 above.

[

] written over like

[

] Hand B

[2 ] Letters, V.6. For Achilles Tatius see i.184 n.10 below.

[

] different deleted; numbers written above confirm the changed order

[

] MS Statius; Hand A wrote Hercules, Hand B substituted Achilles but left Statius; the

next sentence is in Hand B

[

] Hand B’s correction of Blenac

[

] sev deleted

[3 ] Jean–Louis Guez de Balzac (1597–1654): Lettres (1624), I.xxxi, Sept. 1622, to

Jacques de La Motte Aigron; I.15 in W. Tirwhyt’s English translation (1634).

[

] MS Blenacs

[4 ] John Sheffield Duke of Buckingham, Works (1723), ii.275–87, letter to the Duke of

Shrewsbury of which Buckingham sent Pope a copy. Pope replied half–mockingly with an

elaborate description of Stanton Harcourt where he was staying in the summer of 1718,

and sent an almost identical fanciful account to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: printed in

Pope’s Works (1737) and in The Correspondence of Alexander Pope, ed. G. Sherburn

(1956), i.505–11.

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[

] replaces description

[

] Objects deleted

[

] replaces what

[5 ] Georgics, iii.478–566; cf. i.175 n.14 above.

[6 ]

Remarks on several parts of Italy (1705; see Bohn edn of Works, i.417–18).

[

] Hand B

[

] first three letters overwritten and illegible: nobleness? But synonym of exactness is

needed; see 185 foot

[

] Apelles added by Hand B in space left, ending s

[7 ] Not Apelles but Action, whose most famous painting, the marriage of Alexander

and Roxana, is discussed by Lucian in Herdotus or Action, i.e. the virtues of historian

versus the painter’s (LCL vi.141–52). Daniel Webb in An Inquiry into the Beauties of

Painting: and into the Merits of the most celebrated Painters, ancient and modern

(1760), 193–5, draws on Lucian in contrasting the boldness and novelty of ancient

painters’ effects as contrasted with the clutter of minutiae in the work of the moderns.

[

] replaces been writing

[

] Hand B

[

] distinguish deleted

[

] ones deleted

[

] supplied conjecturally

[8 ]

Aeneid, iv.362–87 and 333–61 respectively.

[

] violent Grief and deleted

[

] MS painted

[

] well deleted

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] is alto deleted

[

] MS then

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[9 ] Aeneid, i.502, ‘Latona tacitum pertemptant gaudia pectus’, based on Odyssey,

vi.106 ( γέγηθε δέ τε ρένα Λητώ ); Iliad, viii.559 has the same phrase with ποιµήν.

[

] was deleted

[

] replaces by

[

] Homer deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] i.e. Achilles Tatius

[

] blank of fourteen letters in MS

[10 ] Achilles Tatius (who puzzled the scribe also at i.178 above) was the second–

century

AD author of the romance Leucippe and Cleitophon, remarkable for the

minuteness of its descriptions of things and persons. His contemporary Apuleius wrote

the satiric Golden Ass, based on Lucius the Ass, perhaps by Lucian.

[

] when deleted

[

] to be deleted

[

] supplied conjecturally

[11 ] Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et sur la peinture (1719), i.sec.38. Du Bos cites

Livy, ii.4; Juvenal, viii.266. The figure is ‘le Rotateur ou l’Aiguiseur’, the Grinder.

Thomas Nugent (1748 translation) quotes Juvenal in G. Stepney’s version.

[

] in the deleted

[

] not deleted

[

] modern Poet inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] MS all

[

] MS 7

[

] circumsta deleted

[12 ] Eloisa to Abelard, 169–70 reads:

Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,

And breathes a browner horror on the woods.

The phrase is borrowed from Dryden: ‘. . . the lambent easy light / Gild the brown

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horror, and dispel the night’ (The Hind and the Panther, 1230–1); ‘. . . a wood / Which

thick with shades and a brown horror stood’ (Aeneid, vii.40–1). Cf. Pope, The First Book

of Statius his Thebais (1712), 516: ‘Thro’ the brown Horrors of the Night he fled’.

Thomson’s synaesthesia has already been criticised at i. v.68 above.

[

] Hand B

LECTURE 15

Mr Smith.

Friday, Decr 24 1762

Having made some observations on the descriptions [on the description] of objects in

generall and given some directions for the describing Simple objects whether

internall

or externall, I shall proceed in the next place to give some observations on the proper

manner of describing more complex objects. These are either the characters of men or

the more grand and impor|tant actions and conduct of men. I shall begin with the first

as it is Chiefly the character and disposition of a man that gives rise to his particular

conduct and behaviour, and the manner of describing <the> former will be better

understood when the causes of it are first considered.

A character,

then, may be described either directly or indirectly. When we describe a

character directly we relate the various parts of which it consists, what mixture of each

particular passion or turn of mind there is in the person. To do this in any tollerable

degree of perfection requires great skill, deep penetration, an accurate observation and

almost perfect knowledge of men. Accordingly we find that very few of the ancients

have attempted to describe characters in this manner altogether. Sallust has described

the character of | Cataline

in this manner. Tacitus too tho’ he seldom sets himself on

purpose to give us an account of a mans character yet generally give<s> som<e>

strong lines of it at first, which are illustrated afterwards by the many reflections he

afterwards make<s> on each persons conduct, and the pains he is at to discover and

explain the motives of his conduct.

This way is seldom sufficient, unless remarkably well executed, to give us a just notion

of the character; the general distinctions do not serve alone to distinguish the character

we describe from others perhaps a good deal different. It is not so much the degree of

Virtue or Vice, probity or dishonesty, Courage or Timidity that form the distinguishing

part of a character, as the tinctures which these severall parts have received in |

forming his character.

{Turrene and Saxe

were both perhaps equalls in Courage, but the activity of the one

and the caution of the other made their characters very different. In our own Country,

Cromwell and Montrose who lived in the same period were I believe of equally military

skill, but the open boldness of the one and the suspicious designing temper of the other

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sufficiently distinguished them.

Men do not differ so much in the degrees of Virtue and Wisdom as in the Peculiar Tinges

which these may Receive from the other Ingredients of their Character}

The Abbe

Rhetz is one of the chief writers amongst the moderns who has followed this

method, his characters a few excepted are all drawn in this manner. His method is to

set before us the different passions and inclinations, aversions and desires of the person

whose character he would give us, and the different proportions

which each of them

bears to the others.

{The method followed by Cardinall du Retz was that of describing a character as it

Existed in the person, and he had perhaps in this Excelled all others had it not been for

some affectation and too much Subtelety: for example who can have any Idea of his

Strange character of Anne of Austria,

that too of Madoemosselle Chevreuse is

disfigured by its Conclusion}

This manner of writing as it requires very nice observation, and as it can not give us a

just Idea of the character described unless it be by pointing out very nice and minute

particularities, has frequently lead those who followed it into too great refinements

the description of their characters. The Abbe shews frequently to have fallen into errors

of this Sort; and Tacitus too seems often to have had recourse to Causes | too minute

and too trivial, in order to account for the conduct of the persons he has occasion

particularly to insist on.—Many of the characters drawn by the Abbe are altogether

unnintelligible; Some from

and others from an ill tim’d affectation. His character of the

Queen of France is an instance of the first,

and the character of

of the 2

. Who can

make any thing of this character? cried I

on reading the first. The 2

on the other hand

is entirely spoiled and

is almost deprived of any meaning by the misapplyed witticism

with which it is concluded.— — — —

The indirect description of a character is when we do not enumerate its severall

component parts, but relate the effects it produces on the outward behaviour and

Conduct of the person.—Now | the first <which> strikes one in seeing a person whom

they had not before known is not the prevalency of any part of his temper but the air of

the man as we call it; this it is which first gives one an opinion of a man whether it be ill

or whether it be good. But this air is a matter of so simple a nature that it can hardly

admit of description; and accordingly no one has attempted it.—We must therefore have

reccourse to the more particular effects of the character; and this may be done either

by relating the Generall tenor of conduct which the person follows, which we may call

the generall method, or by descending into particulars and pointing out how he would

act in such and such instances: this we may call the particular method.

The General method is that in which | Mon

La Bruyer

has wrote the greatest part of

his characters.—This manner differs from the direct manner as it does not relate the

generall principles that govern the conduct of men, but tells us in what manner those

principle<s> when brought into action influence the Generall conduct of the man. {La

Bruyers character of a discontented man may be taken as an Example of his favourite

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manner. Had Theophrastus

been to describe it he would probably have done it thus}

The difference betwixt these two methods will be more clearly seen if we should

compare the description of the character of Cataline by Sallust, with that of the same

person drawn by Cicero. The first is in the direct way and the latter in the Generall

indirect one. We will see likewise by this comparison that the latter is considerably more

interesting and gives us a fuller view of the character.

Theophrastus is one of the chief who have given us characters drawn | in the particular

manner. He always begins his characters with a definition of the character he is to

describe and then gives us a description of it by telling us in what manner the person of

that character would act in such and such circumstances. This manner tho’ perhaps not

always most proper is generally the most interesting and agreable. Insomuch that tho

La Bruyer has drawn his characters in many different manners sometimes he laughs at

the person he characterizes, sometimes expostulates with him and sometimes gives him

serious advice; yet notwithstanding of this variety of methods, there is perhaps none of

them all so agreable as that of Theophrastus.

{We may observe that it would be no difficult matter to turn one of Theop<hrast>us

characters into the manner of Bruyer: the circumstances are so well chosen as readily to

suggest the generall character; But on the other hand it would be very difficult to

express one of La Bryers in the manner of Theo<phrastus>. It being a very nice matter

to pick out single instances

that sufficiently mark out the generall character we would

describe.}

Accordingly we find that Theophrastus is generally more read than La Bruyer; Nay this

method is so far superior with respect to the pleasure it gives that the only character |

La Bruyer has drawn in that manner {viz. that of Menalcas

the absent man} tho

perhaps worse done than any of the others is more admired than any of them. {Mutato

nomine de te fabula narratur, said Mr Herbert of Mr Smith.} Tho it has less variety and

less spirit than perhaps any of the rest, yet

has thought it deserved to have a

commedy founded on the plan of it: none of the others have been honoured in this

manner, tho’ there are few that do not deserve it as well. {or better}

{This comedy

was wrote by Mr

a Comic Writer of Secondary Rank an Imitator of Moliere’s and no bad

one} {There is a Certain order and arrangement in the Pictures exhibited by Bruyere

which the least alteration of any member of it would destroy. But Theophrastus’s are

Tumbled together without much arrangement and that Circumstance which Concludes

the whole might have stood first}

If we were to state a comparison of the excellence of these 3 methods of describing a

character, we might perhaps give the preference in point of agreableness to that of

Theophrastus. But in writing a history it would probably be the best method to describe

the character in the same order as the different views of a character naturally present

themselves to us. That is, first to give an account of the prevailing temper and passions

of the man, as soon | as he is brought into the scheme of the history and afterwards to

give such observations on his conduct as will open up the generall principles on which

he acts. {to give an account of his disposition and the generall Manner in which it lead

him to act, reserving the particulars to be interwoven in the Subsequent Narration}

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The particular manner would but ill suit the dignity of a history; A number of particular

actions perhaps very trifling ones thrown all together gives a work the appearance of a

commedy or a Satyre, and it is in such works only that it can be applyed with propriety.

The Characters of Theophrastus

tho very agreable, yet have so great a Similarity both

in their Plan and execution that they soon fatigue us. Bruyers again have a great deal of

variety and Elegance. They of all works of this sort are most proper for those who would

Study the Rhetorical art and are extremely well worth reading.

{His Book abounds with a Species of Reflexions equally distant from Trite and

unentertaining ones as from the Paradoxicall ones at present so much in Vogue among

authors—La Bruyeres are Sufficiently obvious at first View yet such as would not readily

have occurred to one}

| The same methods

that are proper to describe a Particular character are also

applicable to that of a nation or body of men. La Bruyer

has also given us characters of

severall nations and particular professions and ways of life as the Courtier etc. drawn in

the same manner as those of persons. In describing the character of a nation The

Government may be considered in the same view as the air of a single person; The

Situation, Climate, Customs as those peculiarities which give a distinguishing tincture to

the character, and form the same generall out lines into

very different appearances.

These authors I have mentioned are the chief who have excelled in the describing of

characters. Lord Clarendon likewise in his history is at great pains to give us the

characters of the severall persons as they appear in it. This he does by narrating

the

different circumstances | of their past Life, their Education and the advances or

declining State of their fortunes, and from thence indeavours to collect their character,

in a manner nearly allied to the direct method. Tho he has not the penetration requisite

for excelling in this way yet his being personally acquainted with the most of those

whom he describes makes it almost impossible<e> that he should miss some

circumstances that will give us at least a tollerable Idea of the persons charackter.

There is always something in a character which will make an impression on those who

are of ones intimate acquaintance and which they will readily express so as to make it

known to others.

{An Instance of this may be seen in his character of The Earl of Arundell and Pembroke.

The Great fault we are apt to fall into in the description of characters is the making

them so Generall that they Exhibit no Idea at all: who for example can form any Idea of

Lord Falkland from the Character which Clarendon gives him.

To avoid this

there ought to be always some particular and distinguishing Circumstance

annexed such as that description of Agricola

by Tacitus. You would have | known him

by his Look to be a good man, you would have rejoiced to have found him a great one.

In fact when you would do honour to and perpetuate the memory of a friend you must

take care not to ascribe to him those contrary Virtues which the Comprehension of the

humane mind is too narrow to take in at once}

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Burnet

in the characters he gives us is so biting and sarcastical that he is not at all

pleasing; he gives us a worse idea of his friends than Clarendon does of his very

enemies

; this latter | whatever we may think of him as a historian certainly

deserve<s> our Love as a Man.

{Sir William Temple in his Essay on the Netherlands

has described the character of a

Nation very compleatly in all the Severall three ways.

The Conclusion is an Example both of the Direct and Indirect Character of a Nation,

where he says this is a place where profit is in more request than honour etc. As in the

Characters of Persons the great Error we are exposed to is the making them too

Generall so is it in that of Nations. The English, french and Spaniards may be equally

brave yet that Valour is certainly very different in each}

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 14

[

] MS whather

[1 ] On the Character see Introduction, p. 17.

[2 ]

Bellum Catilinae v. This sketch is compared with Cicero’s in In Catilinam at i.194

below.

[

c–c

] interpolation on v.189; the last sentence is in Hand B

[3 ] Henri de la Tour d’Auvergne. Vicomte de Turenne (1611–75), described by pre–

Napoleonic Frenchmen as the greatest commander of modern times; grandson of

William I Prince of Orange. Hermann Maurice, Comte de Saxe (1696 1750). They were

two of the only three pre–Revolutionary Maréchaux de France: Turenne from 1660,

Saxe from 1744. Pope includes the ‘god–like’ Turenne among his dead heroes (he was

killed at Sassbach) in the Essay on Man, iv.100, and Retz praises him in Mémoires

(1723 edn, i.218). CT. TMS VI.iii.28.

[ ]

[[see note

c–c

above]]

[

] M. la Bruyers written above and deleted

[

] replaces degrees in

[4 ]

Jean François Paul de Gondi, Cardinal de Retz 1614 79 Mémoirs, 1717. Hands A

and B are reporting his descriptions of the same two ladies. Anne d’Autriche became

Queen of France in marrying Louis XIII in 1615. Hand B’s note corrects Hand A’s deleted

guess ‘Madame de Nivers’, which is difficult to account for, unless the Duchesse de

Nevers :of Louis XIV’s court has somehow become involved in the confusion. The

Queen’s is the first of a ‘galerie de portraits’, seventeen in all; it consists of a series of

200

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twelve comparative pairs of qualities, the pattern being: ‘Elle avoit plus d’aigreur que de

hauteur, plus de hauteur que de grandeur, plus de maniere que de fond . . .’. The brief

characterisation of the demoiselle de Chevreuse ends with the criticised witticism: ‘La

passion lui dounoit de l’esprit et même du serieux et de l’agréable, uniquement pour

celuis qu’elle aimoit; mais elle le traitoit bien–tôt comme ses juppes, qu’elle mettoit

dans son lit, quand elles lui plaisoient, et qu’elle brûloit par une pure aversion deux

heures après’. Her mother, described at greater length just before, took her lovers

much more seriously: she scorned all scruples and ‘devoirs’ except that ‘de plaire à son

amant’ aman 1723 edn, 214, 221,220.

[

] Hand B

[

] both deleted

[

] blank of about twelve letters in MS

[5 ]

See n.4 above.

[

] Madame de Nivers deleted, then a blank of fourteen letters in MS

[

] on feading (?) deleted

[

] rendered deleted

[6 ] Jean de la Bruyère (1645–96): Caractères de Théophraste traduits du grec, avec

les Caractères ou les Moeurs de ce siécle, 1688–94. Démophile, the frondeur or anti–

establishment man, was added in the 6th edition, 1691 (section ‘Du Souverain’, X.11):

‘Démophile se lamente, et s’écric: Tout est perdu, c’est fai de l’État; il est du moins sur

le penchant de sa ruine . . .’. Contrasted with Basilide the anti–frondeur.

[7 ]

Theophrastus (c.370–288/285 BC), pupil and successor of Aristotle. The publication

of his lately discovered Characters by Casaubon in 1592 began the vogue of this form in

western literatures. See Introduction, p. 17.

[

] Hand B

[

] of deleted

[8 ] Ménalque, La Bruyère’s best known character, was added in his 6th edition, 1691

(section ‘De l’homme’, xi.7). La Bruyère noted: ‘Ceci est moins un caractère particulier

qu’un recueil de faits de distraction’. It is said to be modelled on the Comte de Brancas.

Smith’s use of the classical form of the name (Virgil, Eclogues iii,v) suggests that he

may have referred his students to the English translation of La Bruyère (1699 and

reprints). ‘Absent’ has the common eighteenth–century meaning ‘absent–minded’ (cf. La

Bruyère’s distraction); and the student Herbert—see Introduction, p. 5—has by the tag

from Horace’s Satires, I.i.69–70 equated the character with his professor. The comedy

referred to is unidentified.

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] blank of seven letters in MS

[

] inserted after well by Hand B, who wrote the next two notes on v.195

[

] blank of nine letters in MS

[

] Hand B, foot of v.195

[

] replaces Telemachus

[

] Hand B, opposite fatigue us towards end of previous paragraph

[

] replaces rules; of deleted

[

] Hand B deleted La Bruyer and wrote wrong beneath

[

] a deleted

[

] replaces telling us

[9 ] Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon (1609–74): The History of the Rebellion and Civil

wars in England, published 1702–4. On Thomas Howard, 14th Earl of Arundel, a hostile

portrait: 1702 Abridged), i.44–6; W. D. Macray ed., 69–71. On William Herbert, 3rd Earl

of Pembroke, a friendly portrait: i.44–6; Macray ed., i.71–3. On Lucius Cary, 2nd

Viscount Falkland, a loving portrait: ii.270–7 and also in Clarendon’s Life (1759. written

1668) 19–23; Macray ed. History. iii.178–90. Clarendon once planned to work up the

portrait of Falkland into a book, which would have stood to the History as the Agricola of

Tacitus stands to the Annals and Histories. Pope calls Falkland ‘the virtuous and the just’

in Essay on Man, iv.99, alongside Turenne.

[

] MS the

[10 ] Agricola, xliv; cf. ii.39 n.6 below.

[

] Hand B. on v.198 and v.199, beginning opposite being personally acquainted on

199

[11 ] Gilbert Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury (1643–1715): History of his own Time.

1724/1734. Examples are Charles II, Clarendon, Lauderdale, the first Earl of

Shaftesbury, the second Duke of Buckingham (Villiers), Halifax. Burnet exercised his art

of charactery also in his Lives of Rochester, Sir Matthew Hale, and the Dukes of

Hamilton.

[

] so that deleted

[12 ]

Sir William Temple, Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands

(1673), ch. iv, last paragraph, 164: ‘Holland is a Countrey where the Earth is better

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than the Air, and Profit more in request than Honour; Where there is more Sense than

Wit; More good Nature than good Humour; And more Wealth than Pleasure; Where a

man would chuse rather to travel, than to live; Shall find more things to observe than

desire, And more persons to esteem than to love. But the same Qualities and

Dispositions do not value a private man and a State, nor make a Conversation

agreeable, and a Government great: Nor is it unlikely that some very great King might

make but a very ordinary private Gentleman, and some very extraordinary Gentleman

might be capable of making but a very mean Prince.’ Cf. i.95 n.7 above.

[

] Hand B, on 200

LECTURE. 16

Monday Dec

27 1762.

Having in the three or four foregoing Lectures considered the manner of describing

Single objects as well internall as externall and given some particular Rules for the

Describing the different Species of them,

and having also given you an account of the

different maners of describing a character, and the principall authors who have excelled

in that art; I come now to make some observations on the proper method of describing

the more complex and important actions of men.

It is only the more important objects that are ever described; others less interesting are

so far from being

thought worthy of

description that they are not reckon’d to deserve

much of our attention. As it is mankind we are chiefly connected with it must be their |

actions which chiefly interest our attention; Other rationall agents we are little

acquainted with and the transactions which pass amongst other animalls are never of so

great importance to us as to attract our notice. ’Tis therefore the actions of men and of

them such as are of the greatest importance and are most apt to draw our attention and

make a deep impression on the heart, that form the ground of this species of

description. The actions and perception<s> which chiefly affect us and make the

deepest impression on our minds are those that are of the misfortunate kind and give us

in the perception a considerable degree of Uneasiness. These are always found to be

more interesting than others of the same degree of Strength if they are of a pleasant

and agreable nature.

| {Whence this superior influence of uneasy sensations proceeds} Whether

from their

being less common and so

more distinguishd from the ordinary pitch of human

happiness

by being greatly below it, than our most agreable perceptions are by rising

above it; or whether it is thus ordered by the constitution of our nature to the end that

the uneasiness of such sensations as accompany what tends to our prejudice might

rouse us to be active in warding it

off, can not be easily determind: For tho pleasant

Sensations from what is of advantage might perhaps[s] be dispensed with, and no great

prejudice thereby acrue to our happiness, Yet it seems absolutely necessary that some

considerable degree of uneasiness should attend what is hurtfull; for without this we

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should soon in all probability be altogether destroyed. But whatever be the | cause of

this Phenomenon

it is an undoubted fact that those actions affect us in the most

sensible manner, and make the deepest impression, which give us a considerable

degree of Pain and uneasiness. This is the case not only with regard to our own private

actions, but with those of others. Not only in our own case, missfortunate

affairs chiefly

affect us; but it is with the misfortunes of others that we most commonly as well as

most deeply sympathise.—A Historian who related a battle and the effects attending, if

he was no way interested would naturally dwell more on the misery and lamentations of

the vanquished than on the triumph and exultations

of the Victors.

It is to be observed that no action

| however affecting in itself, can be represented in

such a manner as to be very interesting to those who had not been present at it, by a

bare narration where it is described directly without taking notice of any of the effects it

had on those who were either actors or spectators of the whole affair.—Had Livy when

relating the Engagement of the Horatii and the Curiatii

told us that the Albans and

Romans chose three brothers from each side to determine by the issue of their combat

the fate of each nation; that they accordingly engaged; that the Curiatii killed two of the

Romans, being at the same time wounded themselves; That the Remaining Roman,

betaking | himself as they imagined to flight, brough<t> them to follow him and by that

means got the victory, which he could not have expected from an enga<ge>ment with

them all at once. This would have been a direct description; but very languid and

uninterresting in comparison of the other Sort where the effects of the transaction as

well on the actors as the Spectators are pointed

out. The difference will appear very

remarkable if we compare the above description to that which he has given us of the

same

transaction. The Account he gives of the description

of Alba is another instance

of great excellence in that method of description. Thucydides might have given us in a

very few words the whole account of the sieze of Syracuse by the Athenians | which has

filled the best part of the 7

Book of his history, but no such account could have had [a]

chance of equalling the animated and affecting description he has given of that

memorable event. {There are many passages in Livy and other authors that deserve to

be read on account of their excellence in this art but these I think are sufficient to

confirm the Generall rule that when we mean to affect the reader deeply we must have

recourse to the indirect method of description, relating the effects the transaction

produced both on the actors and Spectators.}

We observed that the emotions of Grief are those which most affect us both in reality

and in description, but when these come to a very great height they are not to <be>

expressed by the most accurate description even of their <effects>. No words are

sufficient to convey an adequate idea of their effects. The best method in such cases is

not to attempt any indirect description of the grief and concern, but barely relate the

circumstances the persons were in, the state of their mind before the misfortune and

the causes of their passion. It is told of an eminent painter that drawing the Sacrifice of

Iphigenia,

he expressed a consi|derable degree of grief in Chalcas the augur,

still

greater in <Ulysses>,

and all that his art could reach in the countenance and behaviour

of Menelaus, but when he came to Agamemnon the Father of the Victim, he could

<not> by all his skill express a degree of grief suitable to what then filled his breast. He

thought it more prudent therefore to throw a veil over his face. In the same manner

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when Thucydides describes the distress and confusions of the Athenians retiring from

Syracuse,

he did not attempt to describe it by the effects it produced on them, he

chose rather to relate the circumstances of their Misfortunes and the causes of their

distress | and left the Reader to frame an idea of the deep concern and affliction they

must have been in. Dionysius Halicarn<assensis>

observes that Thucydides delights

much more in relating the misfortunes and distresses of his countrymen than their

prosperity and so far his observation is just; But the Reason he gives for it does not

appear at all probable. He says that Thucydides being banished by his countrymen was

so irritated by this bad usage that he was at pains to collect every thing that tended to

their dishonour and was at pains to conceal all accounts of glorious and successfull

conduct, that he might by this lessen their reputation

. For this reason he prefers

Herodotus to him, who dwells more on the prosperity and Good fortune of his

Countrymen: Reckoning this to be a sign of a more humane and generous temper. | But

if we consider the tempers of the men as well as the nature of the thing itself we may

perhaps be of a different opinion. Their

tempers if we may judge from their works were

very different. Herodotus appears to have been of a more gay disposition, was of no

great experience amongst men; which temper joind to the

of Old age would make him

inclined to insist much on the Good fortune and happy incidents of the History.

Th<u>cydides again being of an age not much given to Sallies of passion of any Sort

and having seen men and things would, as it were, be hardened against the trivial and

light bursts of Joy but would not from the innate goodness of his heart be insensible to

the missfortunes of his fellow. He perhaps considered also that these melancholy

affections were most likely to produ<c>e a good effect on the minds of his readers to

soften and humanize them, whereas the others would | rather tend to make the heart

insensible to tender emotions. All this may

incline <us> to be of a different opinion

from the Critic above mentiond.

We are here also to consider, that which was before hinted, that it is these uneasy

emotions that chiefly affect us and give us a certain pleasing anxiety. A continued Series

of Prosperity would not give us near so much pleasure in the recital as an epic poem or

a tragedy which make but one continued Series of unhappy Events. Even comedy itself

would not give us much pleasure if we

were not kept in suspense and some degree of

anxiety by the cross accidents which occur and either end in or appear to threaten a

misfortunate issue. For this Reason also it is not surprising that a man of an excellent

heart might incline to dwell most on the dismal side of the Story.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS 15

. . . . Dec

26. Vol. ii of MS begins here

[

] I come deleted

[

] last four words replace not

[

] being related deleted

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] on that account written above then deleted

[

] than deleted

[

] replaces them

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] the fact i deleted

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[

] MS exhulations

[

] replaces object

[1 ] I.xxiv–xxv; I.xxix (destruction of Alba): ‘one hour laid in ruins the work of four

hundred years’.

[

] MS painted

[

] replaces above

[

] for destruction?

[2 ] The most famous painting of Timanthes of Cythnus (late fifth century BC) is

described by Cicero. Orator, xxii.74; Pliny the Elder, Natural History, XXXV.xxxvi.73;

Quintilian, II.xiii.12; Valerius Maximus, viii.11; Eustathius on Iliad, p. 1343.60. The

graduated expressions of grief and the artistic principle exemplified by the veiled face of

the father greatly interested eighteenth–century writers on art: e.g. Daniel Webb, An

Inquiry into the Beauties of Painting (1760), 158, 192, 199. Timomachos of Byzantium

(first century

BC) also represented the incident. S. Fazio surveys the subject in Ifigenia

nella poesia e nell’arte figurata (1932).

[

] replaces Priest

[

] supplied conjecturally for blank in MS

[3 ]

VII.lxxx ff. Thucydides describes the incident as the greatest of all recorded

Hellenic events: for the victors the most splendid, for the vanquished the most

disastrous.

[4 ]

Epistula ad Pompeium, ch. iii. in The Three Literary Letters ed. W. Rhys Roberts

(1901), 109, 104 ff. Dionysius thinks Herodotus more skilled at ‘beginnings’ of historical

works than Thucydides: op. cit. 107 8. Cf. ii.18 n.2 below.

[

] and deleted

[

] MS There; this sentence interlined

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[

] numbers written above change the original order This may all

[

] did deleted

LECTURE XVII.

Wednesday, Jan.

1763

Having now given those observations I think necessary to the describing single objects

both externall and internall, and the more important complex ones, as the characters of

men and the more important and interesting actions; I might now proceed to Shew how

[in] these are to be applied to the Oratoricall Composition; what objects, and what

manner of describing them, and what circumstances were most Proper

to interest us

and fixing our attention on one side perswade us to be of that opinion.

But as the particular directions already laid down naturally lead us to consider how they

are to be applied in the most distinct manner, and where they are all conjoin’d, I shall

first consider how they are to be applied to the historicall stile. Besides the narration

makes a considerable part in every

Oration. It requires no small art to narrate properly

those facts which are necessary for the | Groundwork of the Oration. So that I would be

necessitated to lay down rules for narration in generall, that is for the histo<ricall>

Stile, before I could thoroughly explain The Rhetoricall composition.

The End of every discourse is either to narrate some fact or prove some proposition.

When the design is to set the case in the clearest light; to give every argument its due

force, and by this means persuade us no farther than our unbiassed judgement

Convinced; this is no<t to> make use of the Rhetoricall Stile. But when we propose to

persuade at all events, and for this purpose adduce those arguments that make for the

side we have espoused, and magnify these to the utmost of our power; and on the

other hand make light of and extenuate all those which may be brought on the other

side, then we make use of the Rhetoricall Stile.

But when we narrate transactions

as they happened without being inclined to any

party, we then | write in the narrative Stile. The Didactic and the oratoricall

compositions consist of two parts, the proposition which we lay down and the proof that

is brought to confirm this; whether this proof be a strict one applyed to our reason and

sound judgement, or one adapted to affect our passions and by that means persuade us

at any rate. But in the narrative Stile there is only one Part, that is, the narration of the

facts. There is no proposition laid down or proof to confirm it. When a historian brings

anything to confirm the truth of a fact it is only a quotation in the margin or a

parenthesis and as this makes no part of the work it can not be said to be

a part of the

didactick. But when a historian sets himself to compare the evidence that is brought for

the proof of any fact and way the arguments on both Side<s> this is assuming the

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Character of a Didactick writer.

| The facts which are most commonly narrated and will be most adapted to the taste of

the generality of men will be those that are interesting and important. Now these must

be the actions of men; The most interesting and important of these are such as have

contributed to great revolutions and changes in States and Governments. The changes

or accidents that have happend to innanimate or irrationall beings can not greatly

interest us; we look upon them to be guided in a great measure by chance, and

undesigning instinct; Design and Contrivance is what chiefly interests us, and the more

of this we conceive to be in any transaction the more we are concerned in it. A history

of earthquakes or other naturall Phenomena, tho it might Contain great variety of

incidents, and be very agreable to a naturallist

who had entered deeply into these

matters, and by that means concei|ved them to be of considerable importance, as we

do of everything that we have gone so far into as to have some notion of its extent, yet

it would appear very dull and uninteresting to the generallity of mankind. The

accidents

that befall irrationall objects affect us merely by their externall appearance, their

Novelty, Grandeur etc. but those which affect the human Species interest us greatly by

the Sympatheticall affections they raise in us. W<e> enter into their misfortunes, grieve

when they grieve, rejoice when they rejoice, and in a word feel for them in some

respect as if we ourselves were in the same condition.

The design of

historicall writing is not merely to entertain; (this perhaps is the intention

of an epic poem) besides that it has in view the instruction of | the reader. It sets before

us the more interesting and important events of human life, points out the causes by

which these events were brought about and by this means points out to us by what

manner and method we may produce similar good effects or avoid Similar bad ones.

{Should one lay down certain principles which he afterwards confirmed by examples

This work would have the same end as a history but the means would be different, it

would not be a narrative but a didactick writing.} — —

In this it differs from a Romance the Sole view of which is to entertain. This being the

end, it is of no consequence whether the incidents narrated be true or false. A well

contrived Story may be as interesting and entertaining as any real one: the causes

which brought about the several incidents that are narrated may all be very ingeniously

contrived and well adapted to their severall ends, but still as the facts are not such as

have realy existed, the end pro|posed by history will not be answered. The facts must

be real,

otherwise they will not assist us in our future conduct, by pointing out the

means to avoid or produce any event

. Feigned Events and the causes contrived for

them, as they did not exist, can not inform us of what happend in former times, nor of

consequence assist us in a plan of future conduct.

Some hints of this Sort, pointing out the view with which the author undertook his

Work, whether he was induced to it by the importance of the facts or whether it was to

remedy the innaccuracy or

partiallity of former writers, and also showing us what we

may expect to find in the work, would form a much better subject for the preface or

beg

innin

(

tus

app

)

ace

–m

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as that with which Sallust introduces his works. These however pretty have no

connection with the matter in hand, and might have been any|where else as well as

where they are. This much with regard to the preface.

The next thing that comes to be considered in the course of the history is the Causes

which brought about the effects that are to be narrated. And here it may be questioned

whether we are to relate the remoter causes or only the more immediate ones which

preceded the events. If the events are very interesting they will so far attract our

attention that we can not be satisfied unless we know something of the causes which

brought them about. If these causes again be very important, we for the same reason

require to have some account of the causes which produced them. But these need not

be so accurately explaind as the more

immediate ones, and so on gradually diminishing

the importance of the cause till at last we satisfy the Reader.

In general the more remote any cause is the less circumstantially it may be | described.

Thus Sallust in his Jugurthan war, where the immediate cause of that event was the

character of that Prince and the State of the Numidian affairs at the death of Micipsa,

dwells but little on the events that preceded that Reign. These he points out more

minutely but less so than those that happened in Jugurthas life; and in it too those that

happen’d in his infancy or when he was in the Roman Camp are much less accurately

explained than those which immediately preceded and were intimately connected with

the Chief events. Had he dwelt more on the events that happend before Micipsa’s reign,

he would have been necessitated to have explained those that preceded them and so on

in infinitum. By not attending to this method the Introduction to the

history fills a

whole folio volume; Gordon

who translated Tacitus tells us that when he set about

writing the

Life of | Oliver Cromwell he found the Events in that Period so connected

with those before the Reformation and those again with the former Reigns that he was

obliged to go as far back as the

Conquest, and by going on in the same way he would

have fou[u]nd himself

reduced to the necessity of tracing the whole back even to the

fall of Adam. It is always however necessary to give some reason for the events which

more immediately preceded the Chief cause, but this may often be done in such a

manner as to prevent any farther Curiosity. Thus Sallust when he tells us that the Cause

of the Cataline conspiracy

was the Temper and character of that man and the

circumstances of his life, join’d with the corrupt manners of the people. Here we

naturally demand how it came to pass that a people once so strictly virtuous and sober

should have degenerated so much, he tells us that it was owing to the Luxury

introduced by their Asiatick conquests. This altogether | satisfies us; as those conquests

and their circumstances however interesting appear no way connected with the matters

in hand.

{The more lively and shocking the impression is which any Phænomenon makes on

the mind the greater curiosity does it excite to know its Causes, tho perhaps the

Phænomenon may not be intrinsically half so grand or important as another less

Striking. Thus it is that we have have a greater Curiosity to pry into the cause of

thunder and Lightning and of the Cœlestiall Motions | than of Gravity because they

naturally make a greater impression on us. Hence it is that we have naturally a greater

curiosity to examine the Causes and Relations of those things which pass without us

v.18

v.19

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than of those which pass within us, the latter naturally making very little impression.

The associations of our Ideas, the progress and origin of our Passions, are what very

few think of enquiring into. But when one has turned his thoughts that way and made

some enquiries he begins to think these matters to be of importance and is therefore

interested in them.

A Historian therefore is to expose the causes of every thing only in proportion to the

impression it makes. Now the Cause of the Event makes a less impression than the

Event itself and so excites less curiosity with regard to its Cause; that cause therefore is

to be touched upon more slightly, and by being so it excites but very little Curiosity

about its Cause, which therefore | may be still more superficially mentioned. It is thus

that Salust ascribes the Conspiracy of Cataline to the Characters and Circumstances of

Certain Persons in the State; these he traces to the Generall profligacy and Luexury

then prevailing in Rome, which at length he deduces from the Conquest of Asia, where

he leaves us fully satisfied that we know all that is necessary of the matter and not

disposed to enter into the origin of these conquests, however convinced that the enquiry

would be curious at a proper time}

The causes that may be assigned for any event are of two Sorts; either the externall

causes which directly produced it, or the internall ones, that is those causes that tho’

they no way affected the event yet had an influence on the minds of the chief actors so

as to alter their conduct from what it would otherwise have been . . .

We may observe

on this head that those who have been engaged in the transactions they relate or others

of the same Sort, generally dwell on those of the first Sort. Thus Cæsar, Polybius and

Thucydides, who had all been engaged in most of the battles they describe, account for

the fate of the battle by the Situation of the two armies, the nature of the Ground, the

weather etc.—Those on the other hand who have little acquaintance with the particular

incidents of this sort that determine events, but have made enquiries into the nature of

the human mind and | the severall passions, endeavour by

means of the circumstances

that would influence them, to account for the fate of battles and other events, which

they could not have done by those causes

that immediately determine them. Thus

Tacitus who seems to have been but little versant in Military or indeed publick affairs of

any sort, always account<s> for the event of a battle by the circumstances that would

influence the mind of the Combatants.

This difference in the manner of accounting for events is very plainly seen in the

Description of a battle in the night; one by Thucydides and the other by Tacitus.

The

former mentions all the causes the nature of the

circumstances would have on the

armies; whereas the Other has entirely omitted these and mentiond solely those that

would affect the minds of the Combatants with lesser courage etc. The 1

is the account

of the attack of Syracuse by the Athenians and the latter of the battle betwixt Vespasian

and Vitellius generall.

| The describing of characters is no essentiall part of a historicall narration; The temper

of the person of the actors at the different times will be sufficient. Xenophon in his

account of the Retreat of the 10000 Greeks describes very accurately the Characters of

bet

ayed

{

n i

ost

v.20

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antient Historian who professedly draws characters}

In his Greek history likewise tho

he does <not> enter on purpose on the describing of characters but

by the different

circumstances and particular incidents he relates the characters are sufficiently plain.

Herodotus and Thucydides hard[ad]ly describe any characters. Herod<otus> indeed

has

some exclamations on the characters of the different persons, but such generall

ones as are not to be called characters, and might be equally applicable to 100 others.

{as in the Exclamations on the virtues of Pericles.

—A man of grave or a merry, of a

good nature, or morose temper, may advance to battle or scale the walls with equall

intrepidity.} Tis not the degrees of virtue or vice, of courage, good nature etc. that

distinguish a character, as the particular turns they have received from the temper and

turn of the mind of the severall individualls. Thucydides | gives us no account of

characters at all. This we can not attribute to want of ability, as he was personally

acquainted with most of the characters he would have had occasion to describe and has

shewn his skill in this art, in the admirable Characters he has given of whole

communities, as of the Athenians

after the

and of

which is still more difficult than the

describing of characters of single persons; we must then attribute this conduct to an

opinion that it

was not at all necessary.

There is no author who has more distinctly explained the causes of events than

Thucydides. He is in this respect far superior to Polybius, who is at such great pains in

minutely explaining all the externall causes of any event that his labour appears visibly

in his works and is not only tiresome but at the same time is less pleasant by the

constraint the author seems to have been in. Thucydides on the o|ther hand often

expresses all that he labours so much in a word or two, sometimes placed in the middle

of the narration but in such a manner as not in the least to confound it. Next to

Thucydides come Xenophon and Tacitus; This last has often been censured as being too

deep a Politician. The author of this remark was I think {Trajan Boccalini

}

an Italian,

who has been implicit<l>y <followed>

by all the petty criticks since his time. This

remark was very naturall at that time when such subtility prevailed and Machiavelian

politicks were in fashion; but does not seem at all suitable to the ingenuous temper of

Tacitus, nor is it confirmed by his writings. In the beginning of his history of the affaires

in the Reign of Tiberius he gives us some politicall remarks on the Genius and temper of

that Prince,

but this

is sufficiently justified by the character of cunning and design

given him by other authors. In other parts of his work the pains he is | at to explain the

causes of events from the

internall causes seems to pont out a conterary temper.

Livy seldom endeavours to account for events in either way, by the external or internal

causes, and those who are acquainted with millitary affairs affirm that he is not

altogether clear in his accounts of battles or sieges. He supports the dignity of his

narration by the interesting manner in which he relates the severall events; which he

does so admirably that we enter into all the concerns of the parties and are allmost as

much affected with them as if we ourselves had been concerned in them.

Events as we before observed may be described either in a direct or indirect manner.

We observed also that in most cases the indirect method is much preferable, even when

the objects were inanimate; much more then will it be to be chosen when we describe

the

actions | of men where the effects are so much stronger; as the actions themselves

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are more interesting. ’Tis

the proper use of this method that makes most of the ancient

historians, as Thucydides, so interesting; and the neglecting it that has rendered the

modern historians for the most part so dull and so lifeless. The ancients carry us as it

were into the very circumstances of the actors, we feel for them as it were for

ourselves. {They show us the feelings and agitation of Mind in the Actors previous to

and during the Event. They Point to us also the Effects and Consequences of the Event

not only in the intrinsick change it made on the Situation of the Actors but the manner

of behaviour with which they supported them}

One method which most modern historians and all the Romance writers take to render

their narration interesting is to keep their event in Suspense. Whenever the story is

beginning to point to the grand event they turn to something else and by this means get

us to read thro a number of dull nonsensicall stories, our

curiosity prompting us to get

at the important event, as {Ariosto in his Orlando Furioso.} This method the ancients

never made use of, they trusted not to the readers Curiosity alone, but relied on the |

importance of the facts and the interesting manner in which they narrated them. Livy

when he relates the affecting catastrophe of the Fabii and the

Battle of Cannæ does not

endeavour to conceall the event but on the other hand gives us a plain intimation what

will be the event of those expeditions before they are related.

{In cassum misse

Preces}

Yet this does not in the least diminish our concern on the relation, which by

the lively manner in which he has executed it engage<s>

us as much as if it had been

intirely unknown. This method has besides this advantage that

we can then with

patience attend to the less important intervening accidents, which if the great event had

been intirely concealed, our curiosity would make us hurry over; We would count the

pages we had to read to get to the event, as we generally do in a Novel. {Nay in some

cases

this warning has a very manifest and considerable advantage. Thus after being

given to know that the Generous attempt of the Fabii was to fail we read every future

circumstance and the progress of their expedition with a melancholy which is extremely

pleasing. Livy seems almost with design to give Warning of the Event of his battles as of

Thrasymene

and Cannæ}

| As newness is the only merit in a Novel and curiosity the only motive which induces us

to read them, the writers are necessitated to make use of this method to keep it up.

Even

the Antient Poets who had not reality on their side never have recourse to this

method, the importance of the naration they trust will keep us interested. Virgil in the

beginning of the Æneid and Homer in both his heroick poems inform us in the beginning

of the chief events that are told in the whole poem.

Even in Tragedy where it is reckoned an essentiall part to keep the plot in Suspence this

is not so necessary as in Romance.

A tragedy can bear to be read again and again, tho

the incidents be not new to us they are new to the actors and by this means interest us

as well as by their own importance.

{The graduall and just developement of the Catastrophe constitutes a great beauty in

any Tragedy yet is it not a necessary one, otherwise we could never with any pleasure

hear or see acted a play for the Second time; yet that pleasure often grows by

Repetition.

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Euripides often in his Prologues by means of a God or a Ghost makes us acquainted with

the Events and puts us on our Guard that we may be free to attend to the Sentiments

and Action of each Scene, some of which he has laboured greatly.}

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XVI

[

] to perswade, deleted

[

] replaces the

[

] incline deleted

[

] replaces facts

[

] said to be replaces called any

[1 ] The common seventeenth– and eighteenth–century word for student of natural

philosophy, physicist.

[

] affairs deleted; of naturall deleted after accidents

[

] a deleted

[

] for deleted

[

] This deleted

[

] ig deleted

[2 ] This does no justice to the skill with which both Tacitus and Sallust lead into their

particular histories from an observation on the great deeds of the past, the need to

preserve them from oblivion, and the disinterestedness which historians share with

those they chronicle: cf. Agricola i and Bellum Catilinae I.i. But Bolingbroke thought

introductions such as Sallust’s or Thucydides’ might introduce any history: see his letter

to Pope, 18 Aug. 1724, The Correspondence of Alexander Pope, ed. G. Sherburn (1956),

ii.252 (printed in Bolingbroke’s Works, 1754, ii.501 8, as ‘A plan for a general history of

Europe’). He considered Machiavelli’s History of Florence, Book i. ‘a noble Original of this

kind’ and Paolo Sarpi’s Treatise on benefices inimitable in this respect.

[

] import deleted

[

] blank of ten letters in MS

[3 ]

Thomas Gordon (1690?–1750), miscellaneous writer and pamphleteer, translated

the works of Tacitus (1728, 1731) with twenty–two extensive ‘Political Discourses’ on

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him. In the preface to his translation of the works of Sallust (1744, p.xxi) he tells of the

history of England on which he is engaged: ‘My first intention was to write the life of

Cromwell only, but, as I found that, in order to describe his times it was necessary to

describe the times which preceded and introduced him, and that I could not begin even

at the Reformation without recounting many public incidents before the Reformation, I

have begun at the Conquest and gone through several Reigns, some of these seen and

approved by the ablest judges, such judges as would animate the slowest ambitions.

Half of it will probably appear a few years hence; the whole will conclude with the

“History of Cromwell”.’ His History of England (British Library Add. MS 20780) ends in

mid–sentence at 1610; but small parts were printed in his Collection of Papers (1748)

and Essays against Popery Slavery and Arbitrary Power (1750?).

[

] events in the Blac deleted

[

] Reformation, deleted

[

] as much deleted

[

] very deleted

[4 ] Bellum Cailinae, I.xi.

[

r–r

] Hand B’s note begins on v.18 opposite If these causes (19) and ends opposite the

appropriate point corrupt manners of the people (21)

[

] this sentence inserted by Hand A vertically in inner margin of v.19, keyed for

insertion after into

[ ]

[[see note

r–r

above]]

[

] so in MS

[

] their deleted

[

] proce deleted

[5 ]

Thucydides, VII.xliii–xlv; Tacitus, Historiae, III.xxii–xxiv but the Vitellians, in the

absence of Vitellius, had no ‘generall’.

[

] Army deleted

[6 ] Anabasis, II.vi: Clearchus, Proxenus, Menon.

[

] Hand B

[

] i.e. yet

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[

] replaces gives

[7 ]

Not traceable in Herodotus.

[8 ]

i.e. after the disaster of Syracuse (VII.lxxxvii), cf. ii.8 n.3 above. VIII.i describes

the effects on the Athenians of the news of the disaster.

[

a–a

] two blanks in MS of about ten letters each

[

] replaces this

[9 ] Traiano Boccalini: Commentari sopra Cornelio Tacito (1669); cf. ii.69 n.4 below.

[

] Hand B, correcting Hand A’s Bathesar Castigliond (deleted)

[

] supplied conjecturally: reading doubtful

[10 ] Annales, I.iv.

[

] conduct deleted

[

] character deleted

[

] effects deleted

[

] is in deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces by the; prompting us replaces we have

[

] ruinous deleted

[11 ]

II.xlviii–l. The crowd cheering the Fabii on their way against the Veientes pray to

the gods for their success, but ‘in cassum missae preces’, in vain (xlix.8). Cf. ii.43 n.9

below. The battle of Cannae, Hannibal’s great victory in 216

BC, is described by Livy at

XXII.xliii–xlix; cf. ii.56 n.8 below.

[

] or missi (?)

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces interests

[

] replaces which

[

] it has deleted

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[12 ] Hannibal’s destruction of the army of Flaminius at Lake Trasimene in 217 BC: Livy

XXII.iv–vi.

[

] Hand B

[

] But deleted; Even and Antient in Hand B above the line

[

] It is not the novelty alone that deleted

[

] Hand B, but last seven words in Hand A, last five vertically in margin

LECTURE XVIII

Friday Jan.

7. 1763

{The order in which I proposed to treat of historicall Composition was first to treat of

the End; next of the means of accomplishing that End, of [of] the Materialls of

hi<s>tory; next of the arrangement of these materials; next of the Expression; and

lastly of those who have most excelled in this Subject}

The next thing in order that comes to be considered with regard to historicall

composition is the arangement in which the severall parts of the narration are to be

placed. In generall the narration is to be carried on in the same order

as that in which

the events themselves happened. The mind naturally conceives that the facts happened

in the order they are related, and when they are by this means suited to our naturall

conceptions the notion we form of them is by that means rendered more distinct. This

rule is quite evident and accordingly few Historians have tresspassed against it.

But when severall of the events that are to be related happened in different places at

the same time, the difficulty

in this case is to determine in what order they are

to be

related:—The best method is

to observe the connection of place, that is

relate those

that happen’d in the same place for some considerable succession of time | without

interrupting the thread of the narration by introducing those that happened in a

different place. ’Tis in this manner that Herodotus after having followed the course of

events in one Country to some remarkable Æra passes on to those that happend during

a Period nearly of the same length in another country, Resuming afterwards the former

by itself where he had left it off.

But tho the connection of time and place are very strong, yet they are not to be so

invariably observed as to supercede the observance of all others. There is another

connection still more striking than any of the former, I mean that of cause and Effect.

There is no connection with which we are so much interested as this of cause and effect;

we are not satisfied when we have a fact told us which we are at a loss to conceive what

it was that brought it about. Now there is often such a connection betwixt the facts that

have happend at different

times in different | countries

that the one can not be

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explaind distinct from the other. They would appear altogether unintelligible unless

those which produced them were also understood. The Difficulty of Accommodating the

explaining the causes that have produced the different events with the distinctness

which is necessary to give one a clear notion of any one series of events, has lead

different authors into error in

both the distinctness of events and the connection of

causes with events. Diodorus

of Halicarnassus {accuses Thucidides}

of having

adhered so much to the connection of time that the different events he relates to have

happen’d in different places at the same time are so jumbled together that it is

impossible to form a distinct notion of what passed in any one place. This observation

of the Halicarnassian is not perhaps altogether just with regard to Thucydides. The

History he writes is that of a war; and the events of one campaign in each place he

narrates by themselves; this period is not so short but one may form a distinct enough |

notion of the Events that happen’d in each place. The Criticism may however serve to

shew what disadvantages would attend the writing a history with too close an attention

to the connection of time. Had Thycydides chosen much shorter periods, as a month,

which the compilers of the history of Europe

a work publishd some Years ago did, no

one could form any conception of the events any more than from a chronologicall table.

Mr Rapin

on the other hand having adhered too much to the connection of Place has

often rendered the causes of the events altogether obscure. In his account of the Saxon

Heptarchy, he relates the whole affairs of each of those seperate states by themselves,

in one continued account from their first establishment till their subversion by the West

Saxons. The transactions that pass in any of these are so connected with what passed |

at the same time or a little befor<e> in another part of England that one can not

perceive by what means they were brought about unless he is before informed of what

passed in the neighbouring states. So that one can not form any notions of the history

of any one of these till he has read thro the whole severall times and that with no small

attention. The same may be observed of his account of the disputes betwixt the people

and King Charles the 1

. which for distinctness sake as he says he relates in the same

manner, and the obscurity and incoherence

that follows it is still greater as the affairs

are still more nearly connected. {For distinctness sake says he I will relate separately

the affair of the Bishops, of the Militia and of the Earl of Stafford. These are unluckily so

Interwoven that to understand what is done in one of them we must know what is doing

in the others}

The best method therefore is to adhere to the succession of time as long as it does not

introduce an inconvenience from the want of connection; and that when there are a

number of simultaneous events to be related we should relate by themselves those that

happen’d in each place, recapitulating under each those concerning the others so | far

as is necessary to keep up the connection betwixt the Cause and the event, and place

the former always in order before the latter.

I shall only observe two things farther with regard to the arangement of the narration;

the 1

Is, That there is an other way of keeping up the connection besides the two

abovementioned; That is, the Poeticall method, which connects the different facts

some slight circumstances which often had nothing in the bringing about the series of

the events, or by some relation that appears betwixt them.

This is the method which

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Livy generally has made use of, and to such good purpose that he has never been

condemned for want of connection. {Thucydides

on the other hand never observes any

sort of connection in the circumstances he brings in. Those mentioned in his description

of the battle in the night

would do equally well in whatever order they were placed

Tacitus

describing the distress an army was in says; They were without tents and in

want of bandages.— — —}

The 2

is that, We should never leave any chasm

or Gap in the thread of the narration

even tho there are no remarkable events to fill up that space. The very notion of a gap

makes us uneasy for what should have happened in that time. Taci|tus is often guilty of

this fault. He tells us that the army of Germanicus

being attacked in their camp gained

a great victory over the enemy; this is in the middle of Germany and in the next

sentence we find them across the Rhine, supported by the assiduity and Care of

Agrippina when they were in the utmost hazard.— — —

I shall now proceed to make some observations on the Manner in which the narration is

to be expressed and the difference betwixt the didactick

, oratoricall and the Historicall

Stile.

An historian as well as an orator may excite our love or esteem for the persons he treats

, but then the methods they take are very different. The Rhetorician will not barely

set forth the character of a person as it realy existed but will magnify every particular

that may tend to excite the Strongest emotions in us. He will also seem to be deeply

affected with | that affection which he would have us feel towards any object. He will

exclaim, for example, on the amiable Character, the sweet temper and behaviour of the

man towards whom he would have us to feel those affections. The Historian on the

conterary can only excite our affection by the narration of the facts and setting them in

as interesting a view as he possibly can. But all exclamations in his own person would

not suit with the impartiality he is to maintain and the design he is to have in view of

narrating facts as they are without magnifying them or diminishing them.—An historian

in the same way may excite grief or compassion but only by narrating facts which excite

those feelings; whereas the orator heightens every incident and pretends at least to be

deeply affected by them himself, often exclaiming on the wretched condition of those he

talks of etc.—{I could almost say damn it}

Few historians accordingly have run in this error. Tacitus indeed has a

passionate

exclamation in the latter part of his character of Agricola.

The Elder Pliny too has

severall times been guilty of this foolish affectation as it certainly is in him who in other

respects is a very grave author, and the more so on the subject he writes on, which is

naturall history, a subject which tho’ it may be very amusing does not appear

to be

very animating.

Besides these there is no historian who has used them unless it be

Valerius maximus,

and Florus (if he deserves the name of a historian) who is full of

them from the beginning to the end.

the historian is not to make use of the Oratoricall Stile so neither has he any occ[c]

asion for the didactick. It is not his business to bring proofs for propositions but to

narrate facts. The only thing he can be under any | necessity of proving is the events he

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relates. The best way in this case is not to set a labourd and formall demonstration but

barely mentioning the authorities on both sides, to shew for what reason

he had

chosen to be of the one opinion rather than of the other. Long demonstrations as they

are no part of the historians province are seldom made use of by the ancients. The

modern authors have often brought them in. Historicall truths are now in much greater

request than they ever were in the ancient times. One thing that has contributed to the

increase of this curiosity is that there are now severall sects in Religion and politicall

disputes which are greatly dependent on the truth of certain facts. This it is that has

induced almost all historians for some time past to be at great pains in the proof of

those facts on which the claims of the parties they favoured depended. These proofs

however besides that they are inconsistent with the historicall stile, are likewise of bad

con|sequence as they interrupt the thread of the narration, and that most commonly in

the

parts that are most interesting. They withdraw our attention from the main facts,

and before we can get thro them they have so far weaken<ed> our concern for the

issue of the affair that was broke off that we are never again so much interested in

them.

| {The Dissertations which are everywhere interwoven into Modern Histories contribute

among other things and that not a little to render them less interesting than those wrote

by the Antients. To avoid a dissertation about the Truth of a Fact a Historian might first

Relate the Event according to the most likely opinion and when he had done so give the

others by saying that such or such a Circumstance had occasiond such or such a

mistake or that such a

misrepresentation had been propagated by such a person for

such Ends. This would be making a fact of it. The Truth and Evidence of Historicall facts

is now in much more request and more critically Examined than among the Antients

because of all the Numerous Sects among us whether Civil or | Religious, there is hardly

one the reasonableness of whose Tenets does not depend on some historicall fact}

Besides no fact that is called in question interests us so much or makes so lasting

impression, as those of whose truth

we are altogether satisfied. Now all proofs of this

sort show that the matter is somewhat dubious; so that on the whole it would be more

proper to narrate these facts without mentioning the doubt, than to bring in any long

proof.

The same objections that have been mentioned against Long Demonstrations hold

equally against Reflexions and observations that exceed the length of too or three

sentences. If one was to point out to us some interesting spectacle, it would surely be

very disagreable in the most engaging part to interupt us and turn our attention from it

by desiring us to attend | to the fine contrivance of the parts of the object or the

admirable exactness with which the whole was carried on. We would be uneasy by being

thus withdrawn from what we were so much concerned in. The historian who brings in

long reflections acts precisely in the same manner, he withdraws us from the most

interesting part of the narration; and in such interruptions we [we] always imagine that

we lose some part of the transaction; Tho’ the narration is broken off we cannot

conceive that the action is interrupted. The short Reflexions and observations made use

of by The Cardinal de Rhetz and by Tacitus are not liable to the same objections. Of

these Two

Tacitus has evidently the superiority; his observations do not stand out from

v.39

v.40

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the narration but often appear to make a part of it, whereas those of the Cardinall, tho

not too long are intirely separate from the narration.

{I saw, says the Cardinall,

the whole extent of my danger and I saw nothing but what

was terrible. There is in great dangers a Certain charm etc. etc.}

Speeches interspersed in the narration do not appea<r> | so faulty (tho they may be of

considerable length) as long observations or Rhetoricall declamations. The Stile

inde<e>d is altogether different from that of the Historian as they are oratoricall

compositions; But then they are not in the authors own person, and therefore do not

contradict the impartiality he is to maintain. Neither do they interrupt the thread of the

narration as they are not considered as the authors, but make a part of the facts

related. They give also an opportunity of introducing those observations and reflections

which we observed are not so properly made in the person of the writer. Livy often

makes this use of them; Thus he introduces his reflection on the hazard, the importance

and generosity of the undertaking of the Fabii

not in his own person but by making

their design the subject of

Debate in the Senate; which also adds to the sentiments he

would inspire us with.

The only objection then that can be made against the using speeches in this manner is,

That tho they be represented as facts, they are not genuine ones. But

neither does

<he> desire you to consider | them as such, but only as being brought in to illustrate

the narration.

{Not a word more can I remember}

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XVII

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces manner

[

d–d

] numbers written above change original order is to determine in what order they

are, in this case

[

] to relate those then deleted

[

] that is replaces and

[

] Hand B replacing Hand A’s Event

[

] or at the deleted

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[

] MS is

[1 ]

For Dionysius. The comparison of Thucydides and Herodotus is in the Epistula ad

Pompeium, ch. iii (The Three Literary Letters, ed. W. R. Roberts: on the order of events,

pp. 111 131: cf. On Thucydides, 9 (The Critical Essays, LCL, 1974: i.480 ff.).

[

] inserted by Hand B above the line

[

] replaces criticism

[2 ]

Not identified.

[3 ]

Paul de Rapin Thoyras (1661–1725): Histoire d’Angleterre, i (1724), 147 275, 475

525 (Bk 3. the Heptarchy; and ‘Dissertation sur le Gouvernement . . . des Anglo–

Saxons’); viii (1725), 1724 (Bks 20–21, from 1640 to 1649).

[

] last three words replace and confusion

[

] Hand B

[

] different facts replaces events

[

] last eight words added vertically in margin

[

] Hand B replacing Hand A’s Tacitus (deleted)

[4 ] See ii.23 n.5 above.

[

] In an other place he says describing deleted

[5 ]

Annales, I.lxv: ‘non tentoria manipulís, non fomenta sauciis’. The army of

Germanicus: I.lxviii–lxix.

[

] in added to chas in different ink

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] inserted by Hand B above the line

[

] but we deleted

[

] Hand B(?) at foot of 38

[

] An historian again never enters into deleted

[

] MS an, n deleted; passionate added above the line

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[6 ] ‘Bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter’ (Agricola, xliv, quoted at i.199

above); or ‘consulari ac triumphalibus ornamentis praedito quid aliud adstruere fortuna

poterat?’

[

] to me deleted

[

] Hand B replacing Hand A’s interesting (deleted)

[7 ]

Valerius Maximus wrote (c. AD 31) a handbook of moral and philosophical examples

drawn from history for the use of rhetoricians. Lucius Annaeus Florus compiled an

Epitome of Roman history up to Augustus, derived mainly from Livy; cf. i.83 n.4 above.

[

] replaces In

[

] this deleted

[

] MS these, se deleted

[

] mistake h deleted

[

] Hand B, v.39 (top)–v.40

[

] of whose truth replaces that

[

] those deleted

[8 ] Je voyois le peril dans toute son étendue, et je n’y voyois rien qui ne me parut

affreux. Les plus grands dangers ont leurs charmes, pour peu que l’on aperoive de gloire

dans la perspective des mauvais succés; les mediocres dangers n’ont que des horreurs,

quand le perte de la réputation el attachée á la mauvai fortune’: Retz, Mémoires (1723),

152, under Sept. 1648—italicized as an ‘observation’ separate from the narration.

Quoted in a loose translation in TMS I.iii.2.11.

[

] Hand B

[9 ] II.xlvii–xlviii: cf. ii.29 n.11 above.

[

] the deleted

[

] then deleted

[

] Hand A in small writing in next line

LECTURE. XIX

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Monday Jan.

10 1763

Having in the preceding lectures given ye an account of the principall things necessary

to be observed in the writing of history, I proceed to

the History of Historians.

The Poets were the first Historians of any. They recorded those accounts that were most

apt to suprise and strike the imagination such as the mythological history and

adventures of their Deities. We find accordingly all the most ancient

writings were

ballads or Hymns in honour of their Gods recording the most amazing parts of their

conduct. As their Subject was the marvellous so they naturally expressed themselves in

the Language of wonder, that is in Poetry, for in that Stile amazement and | surprise

naturally break forth.

Of the actions of men, again, military exploits [as they] would be the first subject of the

Poets as they are most fraught with adventures that are fit to amaze and gratify the

desire men have especially in the early periods for what is marvellous. Homer

accordingly has recorded the most remarkable

war that his countrymen had been

engaged in before those days. All the other poets he mentions, for he mentions no

writers but what were poets, had also followed the same plan; they related the most

surprising adventures and warlike exploits of the great men in or before their time. In

all Countries we find poetry has been the first Species of writing, as the marvellous is

that which first draws the attention of unimproved men. The oldest originall Writings in

Latin, Italian, French, English and Scots, are all poets. There are indeed other | writings

perhaps as old as any of these Poems, that are wrote in Prose; but these are only

Monkish Legends or others of that sort; which as they are wrote in a foreign Language,

and in a different way from that naturally to the country, are evidently copied from the

works of authors of an other Country. {and are not to be numbred with the Productions

of that Country}

The next Species of Historians were Poets in every respect except the form of the

Language. Their language was prose but their Subject altogether Poeticall—Furies,

Harpys, Animalls half

men and half Bird, or snake, Centaurs, and others half fish and

half man that were bread in Tartarus and swam about in the Sea; The intercourse of

Gods with Women, and Goddesses with men, and the Heroes that Sprung from them,

and their exploits, were the subject of their Works according to Dionys<ius> of

Halic<arnassus>.

When one reads his account it will immediately put him in mind of

the Geoffry of Monmouth

and the other earlier | writers, their Elves and Fairies,

Dragons, Griffins and other monsters with the accounts of which the greatest part of

their Books were filled, The Creatures of an imagination engendered by the terror and

Superstitious fear which is allways found in the ruder state of Mankind. These writers

that followed this method amongst the ancients confined their accounts to the

memorable Stories of some one country or province; and in the same manner the

monkish legends are confin’d to one town or perhaps to one monastery.

The first author who formed the Design of extending the plan of history was Herodotus.

He chose for this reason a period of 240 Years before his time, and comprehends the

history not only of all the Grecian States but also of all the Barbarous nations. These he

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has connected together in such an easy and naturall manner, as to leave no gap nor |

chasm in his narration. The stile is gracefull and easy; his narration Crowded with

memorable facts and those the most extraordinary that happened in each country. He

does not however confine himself to those that produced any memorable change or

alteration in each country but chooses out whatever is most agreable. He has

not near

so many of those fabulous and marvellous accounts as we are told the authors who

preceded him had but then he has still a good number scattered in his work. His design

inde<e>d seems to have been rather to amuse than to instruct. This is confirmed by the

long period he has chosen and the wide tract of Country which he has

made the

Subjects of his history; by this means his

facts could be more easily rendered amusing

and he has accordingly picked from the history of each country those which are most

intertaining whether they be of importance or not. We can

learn from him rather

the

Customs of the different nations and the | series of events, than any account of the

internall government or the causes that brought about the events he relates; but in this

way too we may learn a great deal.

History continued in the same state as Herodotus left it till Thucydides undertook a

history of the Peloponesian war. His design was different from that of former historians,

and was that

which is the proper design of

historicall writing. He tells us that he

undertook that work that by recording in the truest manner the various incidents of that

war and the causes that produced <it>, posterity may learn how to produce the like

events or shun others, and know what is to be expected from such and such

circumstances. In this design he has succeeded better perhaps than any preceding or

suc<c>eeding writer. His Stile is Strong and Nervous, his narration crouded with the

most important events. The Subject of his work is the history of a war which he relates

in the distinctest manner, giving the history of each campaign by itself so as that we

have a compleat notion | of the progress of the war in each place. He never introduces

any circumstances that do not some way contribute to the producing some remarkable

change in the affairs of the two contending states; This is a fault most other historians

are often guilty of. Tacitus and many others introduce all those circumstances which

give them an opportunity of displaying their Eloquence. Thus Tacitus in one place stops

short to describe a Temple Titus happen’d to visit, and in another the particular

circumstances of the disorder in Verres army.

The only place where Thucydides is

guilty of it is in describing the concern of the Soldiers at the recall of a favourite

generall, and for this too he makes an apology acknowledging that such matters are not

the subject of a history. His Events are all chosen so as to be of consequence to the

narration, and in his account of them he abundantly satisfies his design, accounting for

every | event by the externall causes that produced <it>, pointing out what

circumstances of time, place, etc. in the side of either party determin’d the success of

the enterprize they were engaged in. {He renders his narration at the same time

interesting by the internall effects the events produced as in that before mention’d of

the Battle in the night, and also by the great number of speeches he introduces into his

works, and by which he opens up the different circumstances of the affairs at each

time.} His narration is by this means very crouded and tho perhaps it is not so amusing

as that of Herodotus, yet (as he

himself says)

one who de[r]sires to know the truth

and the causes of the different success of the war will be pleased with it. He gives a

good deal more of the Politicall and Civill History of the two States engaged in the war

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than Herodotus, but neither does he seem to have had it much in his view.

{Thucydides is the first who pays any attention at all to Civill History, all who preceded

him had attached themselves merely to the military}

The next author we come to is Xenophon. His Stile is easy and agreable

, not so strong

as that of Thucydides but perhaps more pleasant; Nor is <his> narration so crouded as

he often condescends to intermix circumstances that do not tend much to the chief

events in the history. His retreat of the Ten thousand Grecians

is com|monly

Compared to Cæsar’s Commentaries as they are the accounts of the

conduct of two

generalls wrote by themselves without the least ostentation. In this point indeed they

bear a great resemblance, but in other matters they differ very widely. The Plainness of

Xenophon is [is] very different from that of Cæsar, and displays an ingenuity and

openness of heart that does not appear in the writings of the other. Cæsars Stile is

constantly crouded, he hurrys from one fact of importance to another without touching

on anything that is not of importance betwixt them. It is not easy to convey a notion of

Xenophons beauties, there are no passages which taken by themselves could shew his

manner, and his peculiar excellencies {as he uses but a few circumstances in

comparison of Thucidides in his description} {The precedent is always so much

connected with every passage that we cannot enter into the beauties of any passage

unless we are acquainted with what precedes}

He must be read through to perceive his

beauties and enter into his manner. In his Expedition Of Cyrus he is at pains in all the

circumstances of the narration which would | otherwise often have been of little

consequence, <that> tended to conciliate the affections of the Soldiers to their

commander, and by this means he engages us so much in his favour that we are no less

affected by the description he gives of the fate of the battle, tho’ it be very plain and

void of ornament, than we would have been by one of the most interesting of those

drawn by Thucydides, with all the circumstances he brings in of the effect the ev<e>nts

had on the actors both in the action and afterwards. By thus drawing us gradually on he

becomes one of the most engaging tho not one of the most passionate and interesting

of authors. {To Speak in the Painters Stile; tho neither the Lines nor the Colouring or

expression be very strong yet the ordonnance of the piece is such that it is on the whole

very engaging and attractive.} He does not raise those violent emotions that Thucydides

does but he pleases and engages fully as much. It is evident from this that no one

passage can make us acquainted with his beauties. On the other hand there are many

passages in Cæsar which will give us a compleat notion of his | manner and his

beauties. As all the events he describes are important, he is often induced to describe

them in a striking and interesting manner. Xenophon too has

given us severall

descriptions of characters in his works, not indeed of set purpose but by the

circumstances he mentions of the persons that occur in the Course of his history. This

he does particularly in his treatise of the Grecian

affairs,

in which he takes up the

history where Thucydides left it off, and by this means he gives us more insight into

Politicall affairs of Gree[e]ce than the fore–mentioned historians do.

The first writer however who enters into the Civill history of the Nations he treats of is

Polybius. This author tho inferior to Herodotus in Grace, and to Thucydides in Strength

and Xenophon in Sweetness; and tho his manner be not very interesting; Yet by the

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distinctness and ac|curacy with which he has related a series of events, which would by

their importance have been interesting tho handled by a less able author; as well as by

the views he has given us of the Civill constitution of the Romans, is rendered not only

instructing but agreable.

Dio

| Of all the Latin historians Livy is without doubt the best; and if to be agreable were the

chief view of an author he would merit the chief Rank amongst the whole number. He

does not indeed enter deeply into the causes of things, in the same manner as the

Greek historians do; but

on the other hand he renders his descriptions extremely

interesting by the great number of affecting circumstances he has thrown together, and

that not without any connection, as is the method of Thucydides, but in an order

naturall to the times in which they happend and the circumstances themselves. The

circumstances mentiond in the night battle are narated in such a manner as if they had

all happened at the same time; but those Livy relates in the Confusion at Rome after

the battle

are all related in the order they must have succeded.

{But that which is the peculiar excellency of Livy’s Stile is the Grandeur and majesty

which he maintains thro’ the whole of his works and in which he excells all other

historians tho’ perhaps he is inferiour in many other respects. Tis probably to keep up

this gravity, that he pays so much attention to the ceremonies of Religion and the

omens and Portents, which he never omitts.

For it is not to be supposed that he had

any belief in them himself in an age when the vulgar Religion was altogether

dissregarded except as a Political Institution by the wiser Sort. And of this he gives a

hint in}

Livy is generally accused of | being very inaccurate in his accounts of military affairs,

but I imagine he is not so faulty in this respect as

common fame reports. He gives us

too a very good account of the Roman constitution not indeed so particular as that of

the Halicarnassian; but there is enough thro the work to make us tollerably acquainted

with it. It is to be co[r]nsidered too that Livy wrote to Romances to whom it would have

been impertinent to give

a minute account of their own Customs; Whereas

Dion<ysius> of Halicarn<assus> wrote for Greeks unacquainted with those matters.

Livy is

compared by Quintilian

with Herodotus and Sallust with Thucydides. But Livy

without question far excells Herodotus and Sallust on the other hand falls no less short

<of> Thycidides. He resembles him indeed in the conciseness of his manner and the

suddeness of his transitions but then he has neither his strength nor his accuracy. Nor is

narration so crouded in the Cataline conspiracy (induced perhaps by the subject which |

furnished him with no very wide field), he has thrown <in> severall digressions of

considerable length very little connected with his subject. In both the works that are

now remaining he is very defective in his descriptions, his circumstances are often so far

from being adapted to the matter in hand that they are what we may call common place

and such as would do equally well in any account of the same nature tho the State of

the affairs were considerably different.—His Description of the battle with Jugurtha

would in allmost all the circumstances suit equally to any other battle; it signifies indeed

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nothing more than that there was a great confusion. Thucydides

in his description of

the night battle, tho he represents nothing more than the confusion, yet it is such a

confusion as in no other place, nor in no other conditions could possibly have [have]

happened. That described by Sallust is such as happen in every battle. In the same way

the circumstances by which | he represents

the Luzury of the Romans and their

depraved moralls are such as attend

Luxury in every country. But those by which

Thucyd<ides> points

out the effe<c>ts of the S<edition>

in Greece are such as no

other sort of sedition, no other state of a country could have occasioned. Besides this,

his conciseness which it is plain he copied from Thucy<dides> is rather apparent than

real. For tho his sentences are always very short, Yet the one signifies nothing more

than was implied

by the former and in the following one. In the Description of the

battle abovementioned the first Sentence implies all the following ones. He supports

(however) his

narration by the aptness of his expression in which perhaps he surpasses

all the other historians, and by the variety of his Spee[e]ches which as well as those of

Thucydides shall be considered when we come to Deliber<erative> Eloquence. | But

from his descriptions, one would imagine that he had enquired rather into the events,

than into the different Circumstances, with any accuracy. And as, by this means, he was

necessitated to contrive Incidents, he would naturally fall upon Common–place ones

such as would occur in every affair of the same Sort . . . .

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XVIII

[

] give you some account of deleted

[

] genea deleted

[

] Poets deleted

[

] replaces illegible word rer . . . . ped

[

] Hand B

[

] MS have

[1 ]

On Thucydides, 6 (The Critical Essays, LCL, i.476 ff.). He quotes the historian’s

own defence of his avoidance of legend however attractive, in favour of attested fact

(I.xxii.4). In his Roman Antiquities he attacks Greek myths as opposed to Roman piety

and religion, and finds legends misleading for ordinary people, as to the intervention of

the gods in human affairs (II.lxviii ff.; II.xx; V.liv).

[2 ]

Geoffrey of Monmouth’s early twelfth–century History was first published in Paris in

1508 as Britannie utriusque regum et principum origo et gesta insignia. No edition

appeared in Britain till J. A. Giles’s Historia Britonum in 1844, but Smith’s

contemporaries knew it in A. Thompson’s translation The British History (1718) ‘from

the Latin of Jeffrey of Monmouth’. It is generally now referred to as the Historia Regum

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Britanniae, as in J. Hammer’s 1951 edition.

[

] much fewer, greatly, deleted

[

] chosen deleted

[

] choice of deleted

[

] replaces may

[

] replaces chiefly

[

] of writing deleted

[

] design of (wri deleted) replaces ly called a

[3 ]

While in Cyprus Titus visits the famous temple of Paphian Venus and consults the

oracle; an account of the history of the cult and the treasures of the temple follows:

Historiae, II.ii–iv. Annales, I.lxi is a flashback to the defeat and death of Varus (not

Verres) when Germanicus visits the spot six years later. The Thucydides passage is

unidentified.

[

] numbers written above change original order says himself

[4 ] Thucydides (I.xxii.4) defines his aim as appealing, through an investigation of the

facts, to readers who wish to have a clear view of what happened and may in human

probability happen again, in the same or a similar way. He is not composing a prize

essay to be heard once only.

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces pleasant

[5 ]

Anabasis, II.vi; cf. ii.24 n.6 above.

[

] expedi deleted

[

] this sentence added later than as he uses . . . description

[

] oft deleted

[

] replaces military

[6 ]

Hellenica, the history of his own times, 411–362, starting where Thucydides left

off.

[

] The scribe has anticipated the name Dionysius of Halicarnassus and failed to cancel

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Dio. After Dio the rest of 55 is blank

[7 ]

Cf. ii.57 below.

[

] at the deleted

[8 ] Cf. ii.29 n.11 above.

[

] blank of six letters in MS; Cannae is intended. Livy XXII.liv.

[9 ]

Livy dwells on the political and social motives behind the arrangements of the

Roman cults: I.xx–xxi (Numa), IV.xxx.9–11 and XXV.i.12 (only Roman gods to be

worshipped and in the traditional way).

[

] unrelated catchword con– at foot of v.55

[

] interpolation on v.55–v.56 breaks off here; gap of four letters in MS after in

[

] the deleted

[

] MS gave

[

] Generally deleted

[10 ] X.i.101.

[11 ]

Bellum Iugurthinum, xcvii–xcix. The reference below, in the description of the

battle in which the troops of Marius were surprised by Jugurtha and Bocchus, must be to

the sentence whose remarkable syntactic pattern re–enacts the confusion in which the

Roman soldiers, ‘trepidi improviso metu’, fought: ‘pars equos ascendere, obviam ire

hostibus, pugna latrocinio magis quam proelio similis fieri, sine signis, sine ordinibus

equites peditesque permixti cedere alii, alii obtruncari, multi contra advorsos acerrume

pugnantes ab tergo circumveniri; neque virtus neque arma satis tegere . . .’ (xcvii.5).

[

] again deleted

[12 ]

Bellum Catilinae, i–xiii (cf. ii.21 n.4 above); Thucydides, III. lxxxii–lxxxiii. on the

social disintegration following war.

[

] the deleted

[

] MS paints

[

] rest of word supplied conjecturally: blank in MS of seven letters

[

] replaces said

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] MS this, 1 deleted

[

] So in MS

LECTURE. XX.

Wednesday. Jan. 12

The first Historians as well as the first Poets chose the marvellous for their Subject as

that which was most likely to please a Rude and Ignorant People. Wonder is the

passion

which in such a people will be most easily excited. Their Ignorance renders

them Credulous and easily imposed on, and this Credulity makes them delighted with

Fables that would not be relished by a [more]

people of more knowledge.—When

therefore Knowledg<e> was improved and men were so far | enlightined as to give little

credit to those Fabulous relations which had been the entertainment of their

Forefathers, the

Writers would find themselves obliged to take

some other Subject.

For what has nothing to recommend it but its wonderfullness can no longer please than

it is believ’d. In the same way as we now see that the Stories of withches and Fairies

are swallowed greedily by the ignorant vulgar, which are

despised by the more

knowing. As the marvellous could no longer please authors had recourse to that which

they imagind would please and interest most; that is, to represent such actions and

passions as, being affecting in themselves, or displaying the delicate feelings of the

Human heart, were likely to be most interesting. Thus it was that tragedy succeded the

Fabulous accounts of Heroes and centaurs and different monsters, the subject of the

first Romances; and thus also, Novells which unfold | the tender emotions or more

violent passions in the characters they bring before us succeded the Wild and

extravagant Romances which were the first performances of our ancestors in Europe.

The Historians again made it their aim not only to amuse but by

narrating the more

important facts and those which were most concerned in the bringing about great

revolutions, and unfolding their causes, to instruct their readers in what manner such

events might be brought about or avoided. In this state it was that Tacitus found

Historicall writing; He departed altogether from the plan of the former Historians and

formed one of a very different sort for his own writings. He had observed that those

passages of the historians were most interesting which unfolded the effects the events

related produced on the minds of the actors or spectators of those; He imagined

therefore that if one could write a history consisting entirely of | such events as were

capable of interesting

the minds of the Readers

by accounts of the effects they

produced or were of themselves capable of producing this effect on the reader.

If we

consider the State of the Romans

at the time Tacitus wrote and the dispositions of the

People which it must necessarily occasion we will find this plan of Tacitus to be a very

naturall one. The Roman <Empire>

was in the Reign of Trajan arrived to its greatest

pitch of Glory, The people enjoyed greater internall Tranquillity and Security than they

had done in any of the former reigns or indeed in the last 150 <years> of the Republick.

Luxury, and Refinement of manners the naturall consequence of the former were then

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as far advanced as they could be in any state. Sentiment must bee what will chiefly

interest such a people. They who live thus

in a great City where they have the free

Liberty of disposing of their wealth in all the Luxuries and Refinement of Life; who are

not called to any publick | employment but what they inclined to

and obtained from the

favour and Indulgence of the prince; Such a people, I say, having nothing to engage

them in the hurry of life would naturally turn their attention to the motions of the

human mind, and those events that were accounted for

by the different internall

affections that influenced the persons concerned, would be what most suited their taste.

The French monarchy is in much the same condition as the Romans under Trajan and

find accordingly that those writers who have studied to be most agreable have

made great use of Sentiment. {This is that in which the works of Marivaux and the

younger Crebillon do excell}

Marivaux and <Crebillon> resemble Tacitus as much as

we can well imagine in works of so conterary a nature. They are

Allways at great pains

to account for every event by the temper and internall disposition

of the severall actors

in disquisitions that approach near to metaphysicall ones.

We will find that Tacitus has exe|cuted his works in a manner most suitable to this

design. We shall consider chiefly his annalls as it is in them that the character of Tacitus

chiefly appears. We are told that his history was that which appeared first; perhaps he

may have chosen to try first how a work would be relished in which his favourite plan

was somewhat tempered with the usuall manner of writing <his>tories before he would

risk one where he kept in view intirely the notion he had conceived of the beauty of

writing History.

The Period of Time that makes the subjects of both these works contains no remarkable

revolutions; the only two of any consequences that happend in that time viz. the

assassination of

{Caligula} and the expulsion of {Nero}

have not come down to our

time nor were these of a duration sufficient to fill above a book or two. None almost of

the events he relates tended to produce any great chang<e>s in the state of | publick

affairs. He conjectured

however and I believe justly that the incidents of private life

tho’ not so important would affect us more deeply and interest us more than those of a

Publick nature. The Murther of Agrippina or the death of Germanicus Sons will perhaps

affect us more than the Description of the battle in the night by Thucydides.

In Private

calamities our passions are fixt on one, as it were concentrated and so become greatly

Stronger than when seperated and distracted by the affecting circumstances that befell

the severall persons involved in a common calamity. He describes all events rather by

the internall effects and accounts for them in the same manner, and where he has an

opportunity of displaying his talents in these respects and affecting our passions he is

not greatly concerned whether the events

be important or not. Thus he gives us a full

description of the Storm that attackd

fleet, the Sedition of the German Legions and the

Buriall of Varrus soldiers

by Ger|manicus, altho in the first there <was> but a ship or

two lost, the 2.

was no more but a mob and the third was [of] still less important

than

either of the former; Yet the method he describes these is so interesting, he leads us so

far into the sentiments and mind of the actors that they are some of the most striking

and interesting passages to be met with in any history. In describing the more

important actions he does not give us an account of their externall causes, but only of

the internall ones, and tho this perhaps will not tend so much to instruct us in the

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knowledge of the causes of events; yet it will be more interesting and lead us into a

science no less usefull, to wit, the knowledge of the motives by which men act; a

science too that could not be learned from

The events he relates as they are of a private nature, as the intrigues of ministers, the

deaths or advancement of particular men, so they | are not connected together by any

strong tie such as is necessary in the Series of a history of the common sort where the

connection of one event with another must be clearly pointed out. But here they are

thrown together without any connection unless perhaps that they happened at the same

time.

The Reflections he makes on the different events are such as we might call observations

on the conduct of the men <rather> than any generall maxims deduced from particular

instances such as those of

In his history he gives us indeed some more insight into the

causes of events, and keeps up a continued series of events; But even here he so far

neglects connection as to pass over intirely those connecting circumstances that tend to

no other purpose. Of this we saw an instance already in the retreat of the Army of

Cecina

after they had defeated the Germans.

The circumstances [of] | which

intervened betwixt that defeat and the Crossing of the Rhine were probably such as

would have afforded no room for those descriptions or affecting narrations in which he

thought the chief beauty of writing consisted.

{Such is the true Character of Tacitus which has been misrepresented by all his

commentators from Boccalini

down to Gordon

} — — —

Machiavell and Guichardin

are the two most famous modern Italian historians.

The

former

seems to have had

chiefly in his view to prove certain maxims which he had

laid down, as the impolitickness of keeping up a standing army,

and others of the same

sort, generally Contradictory to the received politicks of the times. The different courts

of Italy

at that time piqued themselves greatly on a refined and | subtle politicks;

nothing could then be a greater reproach to a man of genius than that he was of an

open and undesigning character. But these politicks he seems to have altogether

despised and has therefore given little attention to them or represented them as of no

great moment. He is to be commended above most modern writers on one account, as

he does not seem to favour any one party more than

another and therefore is generally

very candid in his relation {which is the scheme of Lord Clarendon and Bishop Burnet.}

{Machiavel is of all modern Historians the only one who has contented himself with that

which is the chief purpose of History, to relate Events and connect them with their

causes without becoming a party on

either side}

Guichardin

on the other hand seems as much to have esteemd the Politicks then in

fashion as Machiavel

dispised them and is therefor at great pains to explain[s] the

schemes that brought about the severall events of importance. {His whole History is a

criticall dissertation on the Schemes, the little and often crooked artifices of the times.}

In his account of his own country Florence he often dwells on particulars of very little

ment

which m

kes B

lini in his

vices fr

m P

se A

emn

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<one> to Read his accoun<t> of the disputes betwixt Florence and Pisa | which he

receives as a very hard task.

Clarendon and Burnet are the two English authors who have signalized themselves

chiefly in writing history.

As the thing he

had in view was to represe<n>t the bad disposition of the one party

and justify the conduct of the other, so it is not those events which were of the greatest

importance and tended most to produce a memorable change on which he insists but

such as tend most to unfold the dispositions of the different parties. In this manner it is

that he discusses in two or three sentences all the actions of Montrose in Scotland tho’

of the Greatest importance, and on the other hand relates at length the whole

proceeding of one of the Keepers of the great Seal

Lord Littletons flight to the King

tho’ it producd nothing but a new Seal and a new keeper, and two protest which he is at

the Pains to tell us at full length.

For

| the same reason it is that he is <at> such pains in describing characters; not to

explain the transactions but to display the characters of the parties, by shewing that of

individualls; and for this reason

there is hardly a footman brings a message but what

he gives us an account of his character. By crouding in so many trifling circumstances

he has swelled the history of 18 years at most to the size of 3 folio volumes.

Burnet again delivers his narration not as a Compleat history of the times but only as an

account of those facts that had come to his knowledge. His business plain<l>y appears

to have been to set the one party in as black a light as he could and justify the other, so

that he is to be con<si>dered rather as party writer

than as a candid historian. His

manner is lively and spirited

, his Stile very plain, but his language and expression is

low and such as we would expect from an old nurse rather than from a gentleman. It

has been the fate of | all modern histories

to be wrote in a party spirit for reasons

already mentioned. Rapin

seems to be the most candid

of all those who have wrote

on the affairs of England. Yet he has entered too much into the private affairs of the

monarchs and the parties amongst the severall great men concern’d, so that his history

as many others is rather an account of the Lives of the princes than of the affairs of the

body of the people.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XIX

[

] to deleted

[

] added above the line

[

] Historians deleted

[

] the pr deleted

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[

] replaces would be

[

] the deleted

[

] replaces Producing these effects on the

[

] to the deleted

[

] last ten words deleted in MS

[

] Empire deleted, s added to Roman

[

] supplied conjecturally; see preiousxb note

[

] or then?

[

] to written above from

[

] last three words replace lead them most into these causes that

[

] will deleted

[

] Hand B; Hand A here left a blank with and in middle; another hand (not B) inserted

Marivaux in first space, then line was drawn through all. In the following line. Crebillon

is supplied conjecturally on the strength of Hand B’s note

[

] full of deleted

[

] last two words replace intellectuall (?) motion

[

] added by Hand B in space at end of line after full stop

[

u–u

] Hand B in two blanks left

[

] MS conjactured

[1 ]

Annales, XIV.i–xiii; VI.xxiii–xxiv. For Thucydides cf. ii.23 n.5 above.

[

] MS evints

[

] blank of ten letters in MS

[2 ]

The fleet of Germanicus, Annales, II.xxiii–xxiv; German legions, I.xxxi–xlix;

soldiers of Varus, I.lxi–lxii (cf. ii.50 n.3 above).

[

] replaces interesting

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[

] blank of five letters in MS, followed by blank of two and a half lines; then, in inner

margin, a pattern of dots apparently a caricature of a face in profile, to which Hand B

added this is a picture of uncertainty

[

] blank of ten letters in MS

[

] Hand B’s correction of Hand A’s Socina (deleted)

[3 ]

Cf. ii.36 n.5 above.

[

] blank of three and a half lines

[

] replaces (in Hand B?) Machiavell

[4 ] See ii.26 n.9 and 20 n.3 above. Gordon discusses ‘the foolish censure of Boccalini

and others upon Tacitus’ in The Works of Tacitus, i (1728), Political Discourse 2, sec. xi.

[

] Hand B in blank left

[5 ] Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527); principal historical work, Historie fiorentine, 1525

(cf. ii.18 n.2 above). Most of the works of Francesco Guicciardini (1483–1540) were

published posthumously. The most notable are the political and social maxims based on

his historical studies, Ricordi politici e civili (written 1528–30, published 1576) and

Storia d’Italia (written 1536, published 1561). In Considerazioni sui Discorsi del

Machiavelli (written 1529) he disagreed with Machiavelli’s interpretations of Roman

history as basis for political thought.

[

] first half deleted

[

] it deleted

[

] blank line

[

] seem’d deleted

[

] the deleted; and . . . relation is squeezed in between this line and next, and

overflows to v.69

[

] MS or. This interpolation, Machiavel . . . side, is in Hand B, above Hand A’s addition

which . . . Burnet

[

l–l

] Hand B in two blanks left

[

] Hand B, keyed in after of importance

[6 ]

De’ Ragguagli di Parnaso (adjudications or notifications from Parnassus, by Apollo)

appeared in two ‘centuries’ in 1612 and 1613. The sentence passed on a Laconic for

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using three words instead of two is in Century i, no 6. The work was immensely popular

and influential in the seventeenth century; under various titles (‘Newes’, ‘The New–

Found Politicke’, ‘Advertisements’, ‘Advices’) it appeared in six different English

translations between 1622 and 1727, Advices from Parnassus in 1706. Among its

progeny were ‘Sessions of the Poets’, or imaginary trials of writers for their misdeeds,

before assessors and jurors. The Great Assises Holden in Parnassus by Apollo and his

Assessors (1645; Luttrell Soc. Reprint 6, 1948) arraigns newspapers and their editors.

For Boccalini see ii.26 n.9 above.

[

] one blank line

[7 ] i.e. Clarendon: references to his History of the Rebellion, Books viii–ix and v

respectively.

[

] last seven words replace in as Black a light as possible the one party (last three

words not deleted)

[

] been deleted

[

] last six words inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] scribe started 72 with Burnet, by anticipation

[

] it is that deleted

[

] one blank line

[8 ] Burnet’s views on political and ecclesiastical affairs were broad church, and often

too liberal for his own good. See i.v.199 n.11 above.

[

] but deleted

[

] replaces governments

[9 ]

See ii.34 n.3 above. The marginal note no doubt refers to the History of Great

Britain [later England] by Smith’s friend David Hume, which appeared in six volumes in

1754, 1757, 1759, 1762.

[

] note in inner margin: so (or 10?) years ago. a better now

LECTURE XXI

Friday. Jan.

14 1763

N.B. This Lecture was delivered intirely without Book

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I have now finished what I have to say with regard to the 1

Species of Writing viz. the

narrative, where the business is to relate facts, and come in the next place to treat of

that where the design is to prove some proposition or series of propositions. The Rules

we have already given with regard to the narrative composition will with | a few

alterations be easily accomodated to this Species also.

We may observe also that the same rules will also be equally applicable to Poeticall

compositions. For what is it which constitutes the essential difference betwixt a

historical poem and a history? It is no more than this that the one is in prose and the

other in verse. Now what is that induces one to write in verse

rather than in prose?

what is his design?

It is certainly far more difficulte, but at the same time it is much

superior in beauty and strength. It is evident therefore that the authors design in writing

is to amuse us[e]. {There are many other authors besides the poets who have made it

their chief design to please but they are the only writers who by the very manner in

which they write fairly tell us that this is their design:} The way in which he writes is of

all others best calculated to answer this end. The best prose composition, the best

oratoricall

discourse<e> does not affect us half so much. An orator will

often tell us

the same thing in many shape[r]s. If we should examine | the best orations we will find

that the 2

, 3

and 4

Sentences often contain nothing more

than is contained in the

only turnd into other words. Whereas none but the lower class have such repetitions.

It is even necessary for an orator to do this, if he expects that the argument shall have

its full force. Some repetition is often absolutely necessary to make us affected in

the

manner the orator desires. But on the other hand repetition is so far from being

necessary that anyone who is the least acquainted with Poetry either by writing or

reading knows there is nothing more dissagreable than to have the next line or the next

couplet express in other words the same thing that has been already expressed in the

one before us. Mr Pope tells us that the Reason which induced him to write his Essay on

man in verse rather than in Prose was that he saw he could do it in a much shorter and

concise manner.

I much doubt indeed whether this was his real motive; but it shews

he | was very sensible of the great superiority of Poetry over prose in this

respect. I

mentioned this particular of the great conciseness of poetry, not that it is one of the

chief of its beauties, but as it may prove the great advantage of Poetical measures, and

the great effect harmony and regular movement has on us when it commands our

attention so much that we are never

necessitated to Repeat the same thing over a

second time. {It is needless to prove the superiority of Poetry over prose, every ones

experience and the common consent of mankind sufficientely confirm this.} One

expression in this manner has more effect on us than when the orator turns it in 3 or

four different shapes.

The manner however as it is so vastly more difficult than prose writing shows

sufficiently that amusement and intertainment was the chief design of the poet. It is

from

our being satisfied that this is the design of Poetry that what we call Poeticall

licence has taken its ori|gin.

There are some men who distinguish themselves chiefly in conversation by a certain

knack of telling a Story. They plainly shew by their manner, and the way in which they

tell it that it is not their design to be believed; they do not care in the least whether

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they are or not; all they seem to have in view is to divert us by some ridiculous Story.

As we perceive that this is their design, we are not very anxious whether the Story be

just as they tell it or not. We give them a liberty to add to, or take from the Story what

they think proper, to cut and carve as they please. For there is no story so compleatly of

one sort that every circumstance tends to produce the same effect. There is no story, no

adventure so intirely ridiculous that there is not som<e> part of it <of> a grave nature,

there is none so melancholy but what there is some part of it

prosperous, nor any so |

prosperous that is not somewhat tinctured with adversity. Now as we are sensible of

this we are not offended tho the teller of Ridiculous Stories, a talent which

tho it be no

very eminent one is generally well received, should throw

out those circumstances

which would tend to diminish the Ridicule of the Rest; or add others which would

heighten it; nay we can even allow him to make up a story alltogether; but this seldom

takes so well. {Now if we would make the Story perfectly and compleatly ridiculous or

melancholy or merry we must leave out those Jarring and dissimilar Circumstances}

There are also tellers of wonderfull stories, and tellers of mournfull Lamentable ones;

these as well as the others are often obliged to add or take away from their Story; as

they can seldom get one that will prove so very wonderfull or so very lamentable that

there is nothing in it that appears little or at least of an ordinary nature. Now these are

altogether dissagreable; we know that their

stories are forged and yet they tell them

with a grave face and appear evidently to desire we should believe them. There are

even some who take pains to tell illnatured Stories, and turn a thing of a very harmless

nature into a very Black and Shocking one, these deserve no quarter tho | they are

often too well received. The wonder teller and [and] the teller of lamentable Stories are

always despised. It is only the teller of Ridiculous Stories that can be at all tollerable in

conversation, as we know his design is harmless

so we are readily inclined to grant him

some licence.

The Poet is exactly in the same condition; his design is to intertain

and he does not

pretend that what he tells us is true; for which reason we are not offended if he make

some additions to the Story he relates. But not [not] onely are ridiculous stories

allowable in Poetry, but also the wonderfull and the Lamentable. The teller of Wonderfull

or lamentable Stories is disagreable because he endeavours to paun them upon us for

true ones. But as this is not the case of the poet, we can receive not only the Ridiculous

ones but the others also. The Subjects are generally so distant we are not offended at

the Poet if he imbellishes his Story with the addition of some circumstances. The Taking

of Troy, the foundation of the Roman Empire, or the | Life of Henry the 4

of France

are not so much connected with us as to make us

much concernd in what way they are

represented. For we do not read Homer to be instructed in the Events of the Trojan war,

nor Virgil to know {the origin of the Romans}

; Nor Milton to be informed in the

Scripturall account of the Fall of Man

; tho inde<e>d most of the particulars be brought

into it, yet no one reads it to increase his faith. But

as it is intertainment we look for

from the Poet as well as the storyteller, so we make them the same concessions. As we

know that no Story is so compleatly ridiculous as to tell well without some cobling, so

we know that no series of adventures are so entirely of a piece, either so wonderfull and

extraord<in>ary, so lamentable or so absurd that they could compleatly answer the

design of a Poet without some improvement. We therefore allow the tragic writer whose

Subject is the lamentabl<e>, the Comic writer who has pitched on the ridiculous and

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absurd for his | subject, and the Epic Poet who endeavours to interest us by a series of

grand and extraordinary events, each to modell

his Story (or even sometimes to invent

one), so as to make it all suitable to his end. {Dramatick and epick Poetry differ only in

the connexion of the Scenes of Action they exhibit: in the former the persons come in

themselves, in the latter the connexions are made in the person of the Poiet; he says

such a person came in and said so and so or did so and so, and then came another and

said and did so and so}

(From hence we may see that) There is one requisite absolutely necessary both to Epic

and Dramatick writing, that is, Unity of Interest.

The greatest Critics have laboured

greatly to shew in what it is that this Requisite consists, but if we attend to it we will

find that it is very easily comprehended and what we meet with in every common

Story.—It is no more than this; that every part of the Story should tend to some one

end, whatever that be. This we find in every nurses tale; every story of a king and a

Queen, of the fairies, ghosts and suchlike, have a regular beginning, a middle and an

end. There is one point which all the rest tend to bring about and in which they are

wound up and the Story entirely concluded. This we find in them all whether they be of

a gay or grave, of a happy and joyous or a miserable nature; it may indeed be easier in

them because they are shorter, but is certainly attainable in all.—In the | same manner

as a Storyteller would appear to have failed in his design of raising our laughter, or at

least he could not answer it so well, if he should bring in any of a grave and serious

nature; So it is necessary that the poet should accommodate all his circumstances so as

that they tend to bring about the main event either directly or indirectly.—A comic

writer should make all the parts tend to excite our sense of Ridicule and at last

conclud<e> the work with the highest piece of Ridicule which all the Rest pointed at or

tended some way to bring about. The tragic

writer must in the same manner make all

the parts of the action of a lamentable natur<e> or some way tend to bring about the

great catastrophe; and so of the Epic writer.—But it is to be observed that in Comic

writings the Ridicule must consist in the Characters represented: Ridicule that is

founded only on the Ridiculousness of the circumstances into which the Persons are

brought without regarding themselves is the lowest Species of Wit and such as is hardly

tollerable in a common Story. | On the other hand in tragedy or Epic Poetry the chief art

does not consist in displaying the characters; but in shewing in what manner the Chief

Persons in whom we are chiefly concerned

acted in Lamentable or difficult

circumstances, and how at last they were either in the 1

altogether oppressed by their

misfortunes or extricated themselves from them. The unity in Comedy consists in the

Characters, whereas in tragedy or Epic poetry it consists chiefly in managing the

Circumstances.

But in no part should any thing appear to have a conterary tendency to that of the

whole piece. For this reason the Scene

and the Scene of the Gravediggers in Hamlet

tho very good s<c>enes in their Sort had better been away as the<y> have no share in

bringing about the main design of the piece and are somewhat conterary to the temper

of the Rest of the Scenes.

We may see from this that tragi–comedy tho the different parts be very well executed

and may be very interesting, is yet a monstrous | production. Thus in the Spanish

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Friars

the Tragicall part is very good and the comic part is admirable; so that the

whole is no bad piece; but the parts had been much better taken seperate; the effect of

the one would not have contradicted that of the other.

There is another Species of Unity viz. the Unity of Time

which the more severe

Criticks, tho it is not necessary in the Epic Poetry, account indispensably requisite in

Dramatic Writing, both tragedy and Comedy. Now let us consider in what the difference

betwixt Tragedy and Epic writings consists. It is no more than that in the one case the

Persons come on the stage and speak their parts, and in the other the Poet tells us that

after one had spoke so and so another spoke after him. Home<r> tells us that a Captain

spoke to such a company in one way, left them and spoke to another and did such or

such action. Sophocles would on the other hand put these speeches in the mouths of

the person<s> themselves and represent the actions as | then passing before us. But

from this difference it must necessarily follow that the one must be vastly shorter than

the other. As the one is carried on by Dialogue the connection betwixt two parts can

only be kept up by the changing of the persons, Whereas in the other the poet can in a

few words, in his own person, keep up the connection. The actions of a year would take

up a year to Represent them; but a poet can dispatch them in two or three words.

Shakespeare and some other English writers have been

chiefly guilty of omitting this;

the French are generally very little; Racin<e> never supposes more time to have been

taken up in the actions than in the Representations. Shakespeare on the other hand

supposes often that three or four years

have elapsed betwixt one scen[c]e and

another. The reason generally given for the bad effect of such blanks where no

action<s> connecting them are represented is that it prevents our deception, we can

not suppose that when we have been but ¼ of an hour in the play–house that two or

three Years has past. But in reality we are never thus deceived. | We know that we are

in the play–house, that the persons before us are actors, and that the thing represented

either happened before or perhaps never happend at all. The pleasure we have in a

dramaticall performance no more arises from deception than that which <we> have in

looking at Picture; No one ever imagined that he saw the Sacrifice of Iphigenia; no more

did any one imagine that <he> saw king Richard the Third; Ever<y>one knows that at

the one time he saw a picture and at the other Mr Garrick or some other actor. Tis not

then from the interruption of the deception

that the bad effect of such transgressions of

the unity of time proceed; It is rather from the uneasiness we feel in being kept in the

dark with regard to what happened in so long a time. When in the scene before us there

is supposed to have passed three or four years since the last was before us; We

immediately become uneasy to know what has happened during that time. Many

important events must have passed in that time which we know nothing <of>. We make

a jump | from one time to another without knowing what connected them. The same

jump is often made in Epic Poets, but they take care to smooth it over, by telling us in a

few words what happened in that time. Was this small

connection omitted the Jump

would be as uneasy in the Epic poem as the Dramaticall performance. Le Brun

has

represented the different actions

of Mary of Medicis,

the of

and other painters have

represented the different transactions of an Heroick Poem. This is surely a very pretty

fancy and may have a very good effect; but nothing equall to what the Poem itself

would have. The Painting can only represent one moment or Point of time and the

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situation

things were in at that time; Betwixt one moment and another there must

have been a very considerable time, a great number of moments must have passed;

The actions of all these are unknown and can only be conjectured. {Severall Painters

have emulated the Poets in giving a Suit of Actions but these labour under a defect for

want of Connection; when we turn from one Picture to look at another we do not know

the Persons which act there till we have studied the piece nor do we know what hath

happened intermediate and preparatory to this action}

We are uneasy here just from |

the same cause as we are at an interruption of time in a drammatick performance. That

it is not the

preventing our deception which occasions it may appear from this that we

are not very uneasy at a small interruption, we can easily conceive what may have

passed during the hour or two for which the action is suspended. We see also that these

pieces tho’ they have not all the effect they would have were it not for this defect, have

yet a very considerable one, which would not be the case if the whole pleasure we take

in dramaticall works proceeded from the deception.

The same things may be said with regard to the Unity of Place which some criticks

reckon indispensably necessary to the Dramaticall works. In an Epic poem the

connection of place is easily maintaind by the poets having it in his power to connect the

different actions by a few intervening words. In the dramatick works, the | Unity of

place can not be altogether maintaind unless the action be such as that it be all

supposed to be transacted in the same place, as well as acted. Shakespeare in some of

his plays breaks thro this Rule altogether; he makes one Scene be in France, and the

following one in England, one at London and another at York etc. In this case the

distance is so great that we are anxious to know what has happend in the intervall

betwixt them. The best way, surely is to fix the action to one place if possible, as

Racin<e> and Sophocles have done, and if that is not possible we should make the

distance as little as possible confining the action to the same house or thereabouts. But

when this rule is not observed we find the effect of the Piece may still be very

considerable, which as we said before shows that it is not deception which gives us the

pleasure we find in these works and in fact we nev<e>r are deceived for one moment.

| There is one thing however that must be always observed, otherwise the piece can

never produce any great effect; it is the Propriety of character. As comedy and Tragedy

are designed to produce very different effects, so the characters they place as the

principal ones must be such as are suited to produce these Conterary effects.

Kings and Nobles are what make the best characters in a Tragedy. {The misfortunes of

the great as the<y> happen less frequently affect us more. There is in humane Nature a

Servility which inclines us to adore our Superiors and an inhumanity which disposes us

to contempt and trample under foot our inferiors}

We are too much

accustomed to the

misfortunes of people below or equall with ourselves to be greatly affected by them. But

the misfortunes of the great both as they seem connected with the wellfare of a

multitude and as [they seem] we

are apt to pay great respect and attention to our

superiors however unworthy are what chiefly affect us. Nay such is the temper of men,

that we are rather disposed to laugh at the misfortunes of our inferiors than take part in

them.

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’Tis for this same principle that

persons of high rank make very bad actors in a

comedy. Dukes and Princes and men of high rank, tho they be never so ridiculous in

themselves, never appear the subject of Laughter

, | the same prejudice which makes

us be so highly interested in their misfortunes, makes us also imagine there is

something respectable even in their follies. Persons in low life either equall or inferior to

ourselves are the best characters for comedy. We can laugh heartily at the absurdity of

a shoemaker or a burgess tho we can hardly prevail on ourselves to weep at his

misfortunes. Farces where the characters are the lowest of any make us laugh more

than the finest comedy, and on the other <hand> we can hardly enter into the humour

of a comedy of the higher sort where dukes and nobles

are the objects of our laughter:

{We can laugh at Sancho Panca in his Island

because we know that he was no real but

only a mock governor.} We even carry this so far that we are rather apt to make sport

of the misfortunes of our inferiors than sympathise with them. The Italian comedy, by

applying the misfortunes of the great personages of tragedy

to persons in Low life and

putting their speeches in their mouths, is so far from appearing lamentable, that <it> is

the most ridiculous of any, tho no doubt persons in low life are as deeply affected with

the passions of grief or sorrow [and] or joy as those of greater fortunes.

| {As it <is> the misfortunes or recovery of the chief persons in a tragedy that we are

to be chiefly interested in, A Villain can never be a fit person for the hero of such a

piece. For this reason tho Iago makes a tollerably good actor in Othello as the latter has

evidently the superiority to him in our opinion: Yet Alonzo

in the Revenge

which is

nothing more than Othello Spoiled is a very unfit character, as the hero Alonso has such

an inferiority of parts to Zanga

that we should rather take him to be the principle

character.}

| We observed before that the Ridicule

of Commedy consists in the Ridiculousness

the characters and not of the circumstances. It will be necessary therefore that the

characters should be changed. We can not always be laughing at misers, or fops, we

must have a variety of characters, to make the pieces agreable. But we will find that

there is no such necessity in tragedy or Epic Poetry. The Characters here are not the

principall thing; The adventures or circumstances

and the behaviour of the different

persons in these circumstances is what chiefly interests us. We are uneasy when those

worthy persons are in difficult or unhappy circumstances and rejoice if they are

extricated and our grief is at its height when they are altogether overwhelmed. These

circumstances may be varied a thousand ways; so the Grief or concer<n> excited by

the Orphan and that by Venice preserved

are very different.

however reckons this one | of the essentiall beauties of a heroick poem.

But

when we consider that neither in Virgill nor Racine there is the variety of characters,

there is no Variety in the Aeneid at all; Racine’s men are all of one sort and his women

also have all the same character. When we consider too, that Virgill is in the Opinion of

many the 1

. of Epic Poets, but by the unive<r>sall consent he is the 2

; that

Racin<e> Is universally acknowledged to be the 2

Tragic writer, the French perhaps

preferring Corneille and the English Sophocles; When we consider, I say, that the 2

perhaps the First of Epic poets; and the 2

perhaps the first of Tragic Poets have not

the smallest share of this Beauty, we will be apt to think that it is not so very essentiall.

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Perhaps the great attention which these authors have paid to the Propriety, Decorum,

and

of their works has hindered them from bringing in a variety of characters, thro all

which it is almost impossible to keep up the decorum and propriety of the pieces. In this

point they are indeed greatly inferior to two other Poets, Homer and Shakespear. The

first of these | has a vast Variety of characters and the latter still greater. But then this

vast variety has often lead them into Breaches of Decency, Propriety and Uniformity of

Interest.

As Racine seems to have studied these last mentiond perfections still more

than Virgill, so he has a still less variety of characters. And in the same manner

Shakespear, as the

incon<c>eviable variety of characters he has introduc’d far

ex<c>eeds that of Homer’s, so he has paid still less regard to De<c>ency and

Propriety. These Different Beauties

of Decorum and Variety seem incompatible when in

their greatest perfection, and we are not to condemn one who excells in the one for not

being equally excellent in the other.

This decorum we see is very easily maintaind in the lighter pieces of Poetry such as

Odes, Elegy, and Pastorall where the length of the Piece does not admit of any great

variety of incidents. {Ode, Elegy and all the other smaller compositions are the

exhibitions only of a Single event or action or of one Simple disposition in a person;

they have not time nor connexion Sufficient to awaken great emotions}

—In all these

Pieces the affection

or temper of mind they would excite should not be very violent.

Great Passions as they are long of being | raised in the Persons themselves so are they

not to be raised in us but by a work of a considerable Length. A temper of mind that

differs very little from the common tranquillity of mind is what we can best enter into,

by the perusall of a piece of a small length. A painting can only present us with the

action at one point of time. For this reason it is that we are more pleased with those

that represent a state not far different from that we are generally in when we view the

Picture; When one takes a view of the Chartoons of Raphael, it is not Paul Preaching at

Athens or Elias Struck with Blindness that first attract our attention but Peter receiving

the Keys, Peter feed my Sheep. This piece represents a state of mind in all the figures

not much different from that we are in. {Poussin

used to say that the tranquill pieces

were what he liked best.} Whereas the emotions in the others are so violent that it

takes a considerable time before we can work ourselves up so far as to enter into the

Spirit of the pieces.

| In the same manner an Ode or Elegy {in which there is no odds but in the measure}

which differ little from the common state of mind are what most please us Such is that

on the Church yard, or Eton College by Mr Grey.

The best of Horaces (tho inferior to

Mr Greys) are all of this sort. Pastoralls too are subject to the same rule for it matters

not whether the Sentiments represented to us be in the person of the poet or in a

dialogue. The Pastorall poem

of Mr Shenstone

if he had put the account he gives of

the effects love had on himself into the mouth of a person in the dialogue would have

been precisely similar to the 3

pastorall of Virgil. The only difference betwixt an ode

and the ordinary sort of Pastoralls is that in the one the temper of the poets mind and in

the other of an other person are related.

ENDNOTES

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[

] MS XX

[

] replaces prose

[

] Why should the Taking of Troy, the fo, on v.73, deleted; see end of 79

[

] MS ortaroicall

[

] MS wall, replaces of

[

] replaces but

[

] replaces with

[1 ] In ‘To the Reader’, prefixed to Epistle i of Essay on Man in 1733, Pope explained

his choice of ‘the Epistolary Way of Writing’ then in vogue; his subject, though high and

of dignity, is ‘mixt with Argument, which of its Nature approacheth to Prose’. In ‘The

Design’, prefixed to the whole poem in 1734, he defends his choice of verse and even

rhyme: these are more striking and more memorable, and he found he could express

maxims or precepts ‘more shortly this way than in prose.’ Conciseness is a source of

much of the ‘force as well as grace of arguments. . . . I was unable to treat this part of

my subject more in detail, without becoming dry and tedious; or more poetically,

without sacrificing perspicuity to ornament, without wandring from the precision, or

breaking the chain of reasoning’.

[

] poetry deleted

[

] desirous deleted

[

] this deleted

[

] effect is very tell deleted

[

] a talent which replaces a character

[

] MS through

[

] Hand B

[

] MS there

[

] replaces good

[

] replaces amuse

[2 ]

Voltaire’s epic La Henriade (1723).

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[

] as to make us replaces that we can

[

] v.74 note (in Hand B) replaces the particulars of the Vouyage of Æneas, deleted on

[

] changed from Adam

[

] as wh deleted

[

] replaces form

[

] Hand B

[

] written large in MS

[

] and Epic added above line, then deleted

[

] and who must added above line, then deleted

[

a–a

] two long blanks in MS (the omissions probably refer to the Porter scene in

Macbeth, II.iii)

[3 ] Dryden’s comedy The Spanish fryar; or the double discovery, produced Nov. 1680,

published 1681.

[4 ]

On the Unities see Introduction, p. 21.

[

] most deleted

[5 ] Frequently in his history plays; and in The Winter’s Tale sixteen years explicitly

elapse between Acts III and IV.

[

] MS deeption replaces action

[

] written over smoothe

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[6 ] Charles Le Brun (1619–90), from 1664 first Court painter in France and responsible

for the decoration of the oyal palaces, Vaux, Versailles, etc. His master was Poussin.

The portrait of Marie de Medicis is not noted in Henry Jouin, Charles Le Brun (1889), or

the catalogue of the 1963 Versailles Exhibition of Le Brun.

[

f–f

] two blanks in MS of six and ten letters each

[

] MS sutuation

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[

] unde deleted

[

] Time follows in tiny writing; supply at the same?

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces well

[

] changed from to be

[

] the deleted

[

] 90 and 91 are on a biofolium stuck in after the first leaf of quire 74 (i.e. p. 89); at

lower outer edge of v.90 is a half–erased note written vertically in Hand A: My Dear

Dory

[

] replaces princes

[7 ] Barataria, of which he was made governor briefly by the Duke: Don Quixote,

ii.ch.36–45.

[

] MS traegedy

[

] Hand B’s correction of Hand A’s Zara (deleted)

[8 ] Edward Young’s tragedy of jealousy The Revenge was produced and published in

1721. Zanga is Don Alonzo’s Moorish captive, taking revenge on his conqueror for his

humiliation.

[

] Hand B’s correction of Hand A’s him (deleted)

[

] the v.91 notes end with the catchwords We observed Sc and are continued on 92

[

] MS riducule

[

] MS Rudiculousness

[

] may be are that which chiefly engage us, togeth deleted

[9 ] Thomas Otway’s tragedies: The Orphan; or the unhappy marriage (1680), Venice

Preserv’d: or a plot discover’d (1682). On The Orphan: TMS I.ii.2.3, II.iii.3.5.

[

] blank of six letters in MS

[10 ]

‘Homer has excelled all the heroic Poets that ever wrote, in the Multitude and

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Variety of his Characters’; ‘. . . but also in the Novelty of his Characters’ (Spectator,

273, 12 Jan. 1712). Addison goes on to praise Milton for introducing all the variety of

characterization his poem was capable of. His two human persons represent in fact ‘four

distinct Characters’; and Spectator 309 (23 Feb. 1712) illustrates the points made by

examining the characters of the fallen angels in Paradise Lost in all their diversity.

Addison claims to be elaborating an Aristotelian principle, but Aristotle had in mind

‘manners’ or mores rather than personalities.

[

] obe deleted

[

] blank of six letters (probably Uniformity as in the same phrase a few lines on)

[

] last three words inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] has deleted: the changed from he

[

] replaces Perfections

[

] inserted in margin in another hand

[

] Hand B

[

] replaces passion

[11 ] Nicolas Poussin: Lettres et propos sur l’art, ed. Anthony Blunt (1964).

[12 ]

Smith often expressed his admiration of Gray: see TMS III.2.19 (‘the first poet in

the English language’ if only he had ‘written a little more’), III.3.15; EPS 225 n.20, and

ii.121 n.10 below. In his life of Gray (final paragraph) Johnson, who disliked Gray’s

Odes, pays to the Elegy in a Country Churchyard a tribute similar to Smith’s here: ‘The

Church–yard abounds with images which find a mirrour in every mind, and with

sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo’. Smith uses the word elegy in the

special sense it had acquired since the publication in 1743 of James Hammond’s Love

elegies, written in the year 1732. Hammond’s ‘measure’, four–line stanzas of alternately

rhyming iambic pentameters, was widely imitated (especially in the circle of Shenstone

and Richard Jago) in reflective or ‘moral’ elegies, the genre to which Gray’s (written ?

1746, published 1751 with immediate success) belongs.

[13 ]

A Pastoral Ballad by William Shenstone, earlier entitled Recollection, or the

Shepherd’s Garland, first appeared anonymously as an eight–stanza imitation of

Nicholas Rowe’s ‘Colin’s Complaint, or the Despairing Shepherd’ (written to the tune of

‘Grim King of the Ghosts’), in the London Magazine, Dec. 1751, 565. Written in 1743

and much revised, with a fourth section varying in successive versions from hopeful to

despondent, it appeared in Dodsley’s Collection of Poems iv.348 (1755), where Smith

would read it. Shenstone was attracted by Rowe’s stanza–form: anapaestic trimeters

rhyming ababcdcd; that poem was said to be about Addison and the Countess of

Warwick. See The Letters of William Shenstone, ed. M. Williams (1939), 74, 79, 87,

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300, 421–2, 444, 633.

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

LECTURE XXII

Monday Jan.

17. 1763

Having now said all I think necessary concerning the two most simple methods of

Writing, the Descriptive and Historicall, I might now proceed to the 3 Method viz. the

Didactick,

but as the Rules concerning it are very obvious, I shall here pass it over and

proceed immediately to consider the Oratoricall Stile.

Eloquence as I mention’d before was divided by the ancient<s> into three Sorts, 1

The

Demonstrative, 2

dly

The Deliberative, 3

dly

The Judiciall.—I shall begin with the

Demonstrative as being most Simple and as the rules which

regard it are almost all

applicable to the other two species of Eloquenc<e> and also because those rules which

are to be given concerning it have least dependance on what I shall advance hereafter

with regard to Didactic Etc.

This Sort of Eloquence generally was directed to the Commendation of some Great man,

which was given out to be the design of | the Orator, tho’ as the name of Demonstrative

or Paren

shows the Real design of the orator was to shew his own Eloquence. To

maintain the Glory of the Person he commended was what he gave out to be his sole

design in undertaking the work: But to raise his own glory was plainly the motive of his

undertaking, as the Glory of the Person could not be very interesting either to the

Orator or his hearers, as they were generally persons who had lived some ages before.

{And this also will lead him

}

In treating of this Subject the following order shall be observed. In the 1

Place I shall

consider, I. The End Proposed in these orations. II

dly

The means by which this may be

brought about. III

dly

The order in which those means are to be arranged. IV

The

manner in which these are to be expressed: and V

thly

Lastly what authors have most

excelled in this Species of writing.

As to the End proposd it will not be difficult to determine what this is | to be. The

nature of the Work plainly shews, that it is to Raise the Glory and Reputation of the

Person commended. For tho’ the increase of his own fame may be the design of the

Orator, and ge<ne>rally is so, Yet this is to be considered only as a secondary end. The

Glory of the Person praised is the thing the orator is to have in view; and the other

secondary

end is to be brought about only by acquitting himself handsomely in the

principall design.

dly

Of the means by which this end may be accomplished.—It is evident that there are

but two ways in which a man

may be commended

, either 1

by describing

his

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actions, or 2

dly

By praising his character. The manner in which actions and characters

are to be described have already been explained at some length and need not be here

repeated. What we are here to aim at is to point out the actions and particular parts of a

character that are most proper to be described | in a discourse of this Sort. We may

observe then that when a mans designs

have for the most part proved unfortunate,

when he has been baffled in his chief and favourite Schemes, his actions are to be either

passed over or but slightly touched, and the character or disposition of the man is

chiefly to be insisted on. On the other hand if he has experienced a great flow of

prosperity his actions are what we are chiefly to insist on. For as bad fortune is apt to

give us a low and contemptible notion of a man tho’ he be of a very different cast; so

good fortune has a great tendencey to attract our admiration and applause. But there is

nothing which is more apt to raise our admiration and gain our applause, than the

hardships one has undergone with firmness and constancy, especially if they have at

last been surmounted. We are told by Shakespeare that Othello gained the Love of

Desde|mona more by the difficulties he had encountered than by all his assiduities

.—

We admire Ulysses

more for the great ha<r>dships he had to struggle with than if he

had not been brought into such hazard. Uninterrupted prosperity does not

convey such

a high Idea of the person who has experienced it, as if it had been intermixed with some

Strokes of adversity. The 1

seems more owing to chance, whereas the other demands

all the attention and best endeavours of the Sufferer. {And as a tract

of adversity

which ends well strikes us more than uninterrupted prosperity with admiration and

respect, so a long course of Prosperity is weakend in our esteem by an unlucky or

illguided conclusion. Thus Pompeys

Glory seems to be Tarnished by the Battle of

Pharsalia

and that of Massinissa and Robert the Bruce}

{It is the stedfastness with which they have encountered dangers and opposed

themselves to hazard which has gained men the character of heroes. The Heroes of

Romance are all carried thro a series of disastrous adventures before they are brought

to the happiness to which they are destined.— — — — —} Thus much with regard to the

actions

As to the character that is most proper to be given of a man we would extoll it is evident

at first sight that it must be a virtuous one. Virtue adds to every thing that is of itself

commendable whereas Vice distracts from what would otherwise be praise worthy. But

all virtues are not equally proper to give us a high and exalted Idea of him who is

possessed of them, nor are all vices equally | adapted to excite our contempt and dislike

of the man who is guilty of them. Nay, the different virtues do not

claim our admiration

in the proportion they bear to one another in the Scale of Virtue nor do all vices degrade

in our opinion the person guilty of them

in the precise proportion we

should expect

from the degree in which they are generally placed.

There are some virtues which excite or attract our respect and admiration and others

which we love and esteem. {It would appear that as in externall objects the mind is

pleased with two kinds, the great and the Beautifull, so also in these internall objects

she discovers two species’s which affect her with delight, the Grand

and the amiable}

There are in the same way some vices which we contemn and despise and others which

we abominate and detest; and (as we said) these opinions do not always keep pace with

100

101

102

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one another. Fortitude is generally more admired and respected than humanity altho

this latter

virtue is perhaps more loved and esteemed. And on the <other>

hand,

Cowardice and want of Resolution are

more contemned and despised than | cruelty

and Inhumanity

, tho cruelty and Inhumanity are more detested and abhorred. Men

generally are more desirous of being thought great than good, and are more afraid of

being thought despicable than of being thought wicked. Divines have commonly

ascribed this Inclination which prevails so much amongst men to the depravity of

human nature; and Philosophers who have taken up the cause of our nature and

endeavoured to clear her from this charge of depravity have for the most part denied

this to be the case. But it would be easy to show were this a proper place, that there is

no part of our nature which more evidently appears to be contrivd wisely and kindly to,

or tends more to promote our happiness.

The Respectable Virtues are those which are most suited to a commendatory discourse

where we would excite the admiration and wonder of the audience. For besides that (as

we said) they are of themselves more commonly admired than the amiable ones. For

those latter are often | found connected with the contemptible vices. Thus good nature

and humanity are frequently joined with timidity and want of resolution. And on the

other hand those vices which most demean and d<e>grade one in the eyes of men are

the contemptible ones; for those which we would

detest are as often found connected

with the respectable virtues.

The Language of Admiration and wonder is that in which we naturally speak of the

Respectable virtues. Amplicatives and Superlatives are the terms we commonly make

use of to express our admiration and

respect. But this is not the Genuine and natural

language of Love. There is none of the human passions which when it speaks as nature

dictates is less apt to address its object in amplicative and magnifying expressions. The

Romance writers of the middle age and others on Love subjects have indeed introduc’d

those terms into their Love Language; but nature never expresses itself in that manner.

| Diminutives and such–like are the terms in which we speak of objects we love. We are

most <apt> to fondle Women and children and others whom we esteem of less capacity

and worth than ourselves; and to these we never express ourselves in the superlative

degree. ’Tis the Respectable virtues which

we find most generally

made use of in

Panegyricks. In the Panegyricks of the Saints and Martyrs (a Species of writing very

common in France) the patience, fortitude and magnanimity with which they endured

the torments and cruel treatment inflicted on them is what they insist chiefly upon. The

martyrs were those who in their own time drew most the attention of the people. Their

virtues of patience, fortitude etc. made them be

more admird than the Saints

themselves were for their humility and Resignation and Piety. And it is their praises

which we see are most extolld, and discovered in the terms of the highest admiration.

Such expressions do not at all | suit with the other more amiable but not so respectable

virtues. Flechier

has indeed made use of them in his panegerycks

on those Saints and

their virtues of humility and Resignation; but they suit as ill to them and appear as

Ridiculous as when Don Quixote applies them to his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso.

Thus much of the means whether actions or character by which a man may be praised

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We may observe that in generall the same Rules are applicable to those discourses

which are intended to praise or extoll a nation as are applicable to those which are

wrote in Praise of a single person, and this holds both of those already deliverd and

those that are to follow.

We come now in the III

Place to consider in what order those means are to be

arranged in the discourse which we have here pointed out.—The character of a man is

never very

striking nor makes any deep impression: It is a dull and lifeless thing taken

merely by itself. It then only appears in | perfection when it is called out into action. We

are not then generally to begin our panegerick with a character of the man whose

Reputation we are to raise; but are rather to begin with an account of his mere actions

commencing from his birth and tracing them on in the order in which they happen’d.

With

these as we go along we may intermix some of the more minute and Private

actions of

the Person. The smallest circumstances, the most minute transactions of a

great man are sought after with eagerness. Every thing that is created with Grandeur

seems to be important. We watch the Sayings and catch the apothegms of the great

ones with which we are infinitely pleased and are fond of every opportunity of using

them altho we every day hear better from those of our intimate acquaintance which we

let slip unheeded. Having thus as it were conjoind the Manners of describing a character

made use of by

Theophrastus and La Bruyer,

we recapitulate (or tell over a 2

time)

the character of the person, in the | manner of the Abbe Rhetz. This is precisely the

method which Xenophon has followed in his Panegyrick on Agesilaus.

He begins from

his birth and gives us an account of the more memorable events of his life.

He gives us

also many particulars of his private life which tend to illustrate his character. And

Concludes the whole by drawing a character of him in the Direct manner.

This may answer very well in most cases, but is not to be so strictly adhered to as not

to be deserted when circumstances require it. If it should so happen that the most

actions of a mans life had ended unhappily it would be very improper to introduce our

panegyric with an account of them which would in effect be an account of his failings.

We should rather in these circumstances give an account of his character illustrating the

severall virtues with any facts that will admit of being introduced in that manner,

concealing or at most slightly touching on those of a disastrous nature.

There are other circumstances also which may make it expedient to alter this method.

Thus Cicero | in the Manilian Oration,

where his design was to Recommend Pompey for

the Commander in the Mithridatick war, does not give an account of his actions in the

order they happen’d. But after having enumerated the requisites in a general who

should command in that expedition, Shows that Pompey

possessed all those necessary

qualifications; which <he> confirms by suitab<l>e actions taken from the different

stages of his life without regard to the order of time.

This may suffice concerning the

arangement.

It may be observed that there are some other circumstances which may afford matter

to a panegyric besides those above enumerated: Thus if the Person be of a good family,

noble ancestors etc. {or virtuous children and good}

these may be recorded, as well

as his own qualifications; for everything that is connected with rank, nobility or

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Grandeur

receives a tincture from them and is looked on in that light by the generality

of People.

IV Of the manner in which these are to be expressed. The Panegyrist will | not as the

Historian content himself with barely relating any fact

or affirming a proposition but will

embellish the one with ornamentall declamations and go about to Prove the other by

different methods. Thus Xenophon in the forementiond work not only affirms that

Agesilaus conduct to Tissaphernes was the beginning and foundation of all his good

actions, but also proves it by different methods.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXI

[1 ] See i.151 above.

[

] replaces with

[

] In treating of this subject I shall observe the following method. I deleted

[

] blank of nine letters in MS (probably ‘Panegyrick’)

[

] blank of five letters in MS

[

] aim deleted by enclosing brackets

[

] replaces a character

[

] ord: inserted above; for ordinarily?

[

] replaces praising

[

] replaces actions

[2 ] Othello, I.iii.167–8:

She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d;

And I lov’d her that she did pity them.

[

] the deleted

[

] does not replaces appears

[

] replaces course

[

] character deleted

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[3 ] The war between Pompey and Caesar with Pompey’s defeat at Pharsalus in 48 BC

was a familiar subject in the 18th century, thanks largely to the popularity of Nicholas

Rowe’s translation of Lucan’s epic the Bellum Civile (often mistakenly called the

Pharsalia), published in 1718 and reaching a fifth edition by 1753.—On Bruce, cf. i.150

n.2 above; it is difficult to fill, for him, the blank, since the disasters of Dundalk (1318)

and Edward II’s 1322 raids will hardly suffice. The same is true of Masinissa (c.240–148

BC) the Numidian who, by deserting the Carthaginians for alliance with Rome,

aggrandised his kingdom and became its greatest monarch (Polybius xxxvi–xxxix).

[

] this interpolation by Hand A begins opposite brought into such hazard, (above) and

ends Massinissa’s by, which Hand B deleted and squeezed that of Massinissa and Robert

the Bruce into space above Hand A’s second interpolation It is . . . are destined (below);

there is a space of five letters after Bruce

[

] sentence added later in space left in the line

[

] all deleted

[

] numbers written above change original order the person . . . opinion

[

] proportion we replaces degree they

[

] replaces great; the sentence is in Hand B

[

] MS letter

[

] on the should be followed by other; the scribe thought he had written othe, added

r, and omitted other

[

] generally deleted

[

] and apparently deleted

[

] otherwise deleted

[

] este deleted

[

] replaces that

[

] MS generelly

[

] made them be replaces were

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[4 ]

Valentin–Esprit Fléchier (1632–1710), Bishop of Nimes from 1687: famous, like

Bossuet, for his funeral orations, especially one for Turenne (see i.191 n.3 above).

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[

] this sentence written small in one and a half lines which had been left blank

[

] replaces so

[

] replaces from

[

] our deleted

[

] the Abbe deleted

[5 ]

On the Character see Introduction, p. 17, and i 191 above.

[6 ]

In Scripta minora, LCL vii.60–133. The equivocal dealings of Agesilaus with his foe

Tissaphernes, satrap of Lydia, touched on at the end of this lecture, are recorded at

i.10–17, 29 and 35 in Xenophon.

[

] the deleted

[7 ] Pro lege Manilia, for the step taken by Gaius Manilius in putting Pompey in

command of the campaign against Mithridates and Tigranes in 66

BC.

[

] MS Pompess

[

] illegible word in minute writing (co Ciceros?) follows this sentence which is

squeezed into a line left blank

[

] added by Hand B above the line

[

] com deleted

[

] replaces thing

LECTURE XXIII

Fri Ja.

21. 1763

In the Last Lecture I gave ye some account of the Design of Demonstrative orations, the

means by which this end may be attained and the arrangement of those means.

I shall make some observations on those authors who have chiefly excelled in this

manner of writing. There have been but very few who have turned their thoughts this

way.—It is very late before this Species of writing is at all cultivated, | the Subject is not

one which would naturally interest very much either the Speaker or his audience.

Deliberative and Judiciall Eloquence would arise much more early: Men would much

sooner consider what was to be done, or consider the merit of those actions that have

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been done, than they would think either of commending men and actions, or of

discommending them; and consequently would sooner apply themselves to the

cultivation of the Deliberative and Judicial Eloquence than of the Demonstrative. Their

subjects are such as would be interesting both to speaker and hearers, whereas that of

the latter

could interest neither for tho the Speaker gave out that his design was to

commend some Person or nation, yet the motive was the advancement of his own glory.

This species of Eloquence took its rise from the Old Hymns in honour of the gods and

Heroes in the same manner as History arose from the ancient Ballads and Heroical

Poems. The Stile of these two is very different: | The one raising our opinion of the

Persons whom they celebrate only by recording their actions, whereas the others

celebrate the persons they extoll which are gods or Heroes in the most

high and

exalted epithets. Thus Virgil who proposes to Celebrate the actions of Aeneas does this

only by recording them and never exclaims on the danger or difficulty of the adventures

with which he had to encounter. But when he comes to <the> Reception of Hercules by

Evander, the speech he puts in the mouth of the former in praise of that Heroe is in a

very different Strain.

The Poeticall panegyricks were very long in use before the Prose ones. It is always late

before prose[r] and its beauties come to be cultivated; Poetry is always precedent and

is generally arrived to some tollerable perfection. It will no doubt seem at first sight

very surprising that a species of writin<g> so vastly more difficult

should be in all

countries prior to that in which men | naturally express themselves. Thus in Greece

Poetry was arrived to its greatest Perfection before the beauties of Prose were at all

studied. At Rome there had lived severall poets of considerable merit before

Eloquen<ce> was cultivated in any tollerable degree. There were English poets of very

great reputation before [before] any tollerable prose had made its appearance. We have

also severall poeticall works in the old Scots Language, as Hardyknute, Cherry and the

Slae, Tweedside, Lochaber, and Wallace Wight in the originall Scotts but not one bit of

tollerable prose.

The Erse poetry

as appears from the translations lately published

have very great merit but we never heard of any Erse prose. This indeed may appear

very unnatural that what is most difficult[y] should be that in which the Barbarous least

civilized nations most excell in; but it will not be very difficult to account for it. The most

barbarous and rude nations after the labours of the day are over have | their hours of

merryment and Recreation; and enjoyment with one another;

dancing and Gambolling

naturally make a part of these dive<r>sions; and this dancing must be attended with

music.

The Savage nations on the coast of Africa, after they have sheltered themselves

thro the whole day in

caves and grottos from the scorching heat of the Sun come out in

the evening and dance and sing together. Poetry is a necessary attendant on musick,

especially on vocall musick the most naturall and simple of any. They naturally express

some thoughts along with their musick and these must of consequence be formed into

verse to suit with the music. Thus it is that Poetry is cultivated in the most Rude and

Barbarous nations, often to a considerable perfection, whereas they make no attempts

towards the improvement of Prose. Tis the Introduction of Commerce or at least of

opulence which is commonly the attendent of Commerce which | first brings on the

improvement of Prose.

—Opulence and Commerce commonly precede the improvement

arts, and refinement of every Sort. I do not mean that the improvement of arts and

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refinement of manners are the necessary consequence of Commerce, the Dutch and the

Venetians bear testimony against me, but only that <it> is a necessary requisite.

Wherever the Inhabitants of a city are rich and opulent, where they enjoy the

necessaries and conveniencies of life in ease and Security, there the arts will be

cultivated and refinement of manners a neverfailing attendent. For in all such States it

must necessarily happen that there are many who are not obliged to Labour for their

livelyhood and have nothing to do, but employ

themselves in what most suits their

taste, and seek out for pleasure in all its shapes. In this State it is that Prose begins to

be cultivated.—Prose is naturally the Language of Business;

as Poetry is of pleasure and

amusement.

Prose is the Stile in which all the common affairs of Life all Business and

Agreements are made. No one | ever made a Bargain in verse; pleasure is not what he

there aims at. Poetry on the other hand is only adapted for pleasure and entertainment;

the very nature of Poetry, the numbers it is composed in (for there can be no poetry

without numbers) declare the intention is to entertain. In the first ages of Society, when

men have their necessities on their hands, they keep their business and their pleasure

altogether distinct; they neither mix pleasure with their business, nor business with

their pleasure; Prose is not ornamented nor is verse applied to subjects of Business. It

is only when pleasure is the only thing

sought after that Prose comes to be studied.

People who are rich and at their ease cannot give themselves the trouble of anything

where they do not expect some pleasure. The common transactions of life, as

Deliberation and Consultation on what they are to do, are of themselves too dry and

unpleasant for them, without the ornaments of language and elegance of expression. Tis

then Deliberative and Judiciall eloquence are studied and every ornamen<t> is sought

out for them.

| Till the Persian expedition

arts were unknown in the greater part of Greece. The

military art was the employment of the People and as the education must be suited to

the Business it was to this

that the youth was trained. But least this education should

give their manners a Rudeness and Ferocity which it had a great tendency to produce,

music was added to correct the bad effects of the

former part <of> education. These

two made the whole of the education of the youth even in Athens the most civilized of

any

: Philosophy and the arts were intirely neglected. In the Colonies indeed Philosophy

etc. were come to some perfection before they were heard of in the mother Country.

Thales

had taught at Miletus, Pythagoras in Italy and Empedocles in Sicily, before the

time of the Persian Expeditions from which time commerce that had been cultivated in

the Colonies, flourished in the continent and brought wealth, arts and Refinement along

with it. Gorgias of Mitylene was the first who introduced Eloquence into Greece; he is

said to have astonished them with the

| elegance and force of the Oration he delivered

on his embassy from his country. From that time Eloquence began to be cultivated, and

was soon encouraged by the addition of wealth and opulence to the Grecian States—

{which was made after the Persian expedition. This Expedition likewise added to the

improvement of Eloquence as the Athenian State ordered by a public decree that anuall

orations or Panegyrick<s> should be read on the persons who had signalized

themselves in the defence of their country and died in

Battle.}

As Arms and Music made the chief part, indeed the whole of the education of youth at

t time

enc

[g]ag

e th

se wh

excelle

in th

rts

mes were instit

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at which prizes were adjudged to the victors in the different exercises as running,

wrestling, chariot Races etc. and to those who excelled in the other branch, Music. The

Competition for the prize in Music naturally introduced a compet<it>ion amongst the

Poets as their art was nearly connected with that Science. The orators seeing the

success of the Poets and the great encouragement which they met with, were tempted

to try their art also. There was no prize indeed assigned for those who excelled in this

Science; but that could be no great discouragement for the prizes that were assigned to

the victors in the others were of no value in themselves and only served as a mark of

Honour, which could be very well attained without that Badge. The Praises of the

conquerors in these games also furnished them with an opportunity of displaying their

Talents. At these games Herodotus read his History, and Isocrates his orations (at least

had them read by another for his voice was so bad that he never read himself).

The Orators at this time as they rivalled the poets so they imitated them. The Hymns

and Praises of the Gods was that sort which best suited these Sort of Orators. As they

imitated the

Poets in their design so they did in the Subject; The Praises of Divinitys

and

Heroes who were so much obscured by antiquity as that they might pass for deities

were the subj<e>ct of these Hymns. The first of these orations were

also on the same

subj<e>ct. Those of Gorgias

as we are told and others of his time were generally in

Praise of Theseus, Hercules, Achilles, Meleager or other such personages.—As they

imitated the subject so did they the | manner of the Hym<n>s. Those writings were all

in a very desultatory and inconnected manner. They mind Connection no more than it

suits them and bring in whatever they think can please the Reader not

regarding the

subject. All passions especially admiration express themselves in a very loose and

broken manner, catching at whatever seems connected with the Subject of the Passion,

which as it seems important itself so it makes every thing which is connected with it

seem to be so also. The higher the Rapture the more broken is the

expression.

{Thrasymachus}

All the Lyric Poets are in this way desultatory, and Pindar the most

raptorous of all is the most unconnected or at least appears to be so.

Isocrates is the first of these writers which has come down to us. His manner is said

greatly to Resemble that of Gorgias. He is as well as the old Poets and Lyrick writers

very inconnected, and introduces any subject that is the least connected with that in

hand; thus in his oration in praise of Helen,

he introduces the praises of Theseus,

Paris, Achilles etc. etc. | and not a 6

part is concerning Helen herself. He is fond of all

sort of morall sayings, and coin<in>g figure or ornament of Language, Metaphors,

Similys, Hyperboles, Antithesis etc. The beauty he chiefly studdies is that of a sounding

uniform cadence and equality of Members in the Sentenc<e>. These may all be seen in

the introduction of the Oration to Democles,

which also shews his design and temper,

how he claimed a superiority over the other Sophis[s]ts and endeavourd to Rivall the

poets in sweetness and number. Brutus,

who had the idea that all Eloquence was to

be directed to discover the truth of the matter in question and lead us to a certain

conclusion with regard to the Debate, heartily despised this Orator. Whereas Cicero

greaty admired him, as he considered only the beautiful, the pleasing and what would

intertain and please the audience without much regarding the argument. And indeed if

we should read Isocrates for Instruction in order, method, argument or strength of

reasoning we should lose our labour; But if we expect intertainment and pleasure | from

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an agreable writer he will not be dissappointed.

The Victory of the Grecians over the Persians has furnished us with three orations by

very eminent hands on that subject of the Praise of the Athenians. One by Lysias.

is said chiefly to have excelled in Judicial private causes, where he maintained the

character of a Plain man not ve<r>sed in the chicane of the

Bar or courts of Justice;

and lost himself much when he attempted any thing florid and extraordinary such as

this subject requird. In this oration he appears to have endeavoured at all the beauties

of Language and ornament of expression as well as moral sayings and Reflexions. He

does not Relate many of the actions of the Greeks, these being exhausted by former

authors; but those which he does relate are not well adapted with circumstances, these

as well as his reflections are all trite and commonplace. He exagerates everything and

often

affirms what was far from | being true. He is very fond not only of all sorts of

figures but even is full of Exclamations and Wonder.

The 2

is Platos

and his Stile is more correct, his Reflexions and Circumstances well

chosen and not comm<on>place like those of the former. He has still fewer actions than

Lysias but in the choice he excells him and where they hit on the same one his

superiority is evident, as in the account of the Battles of Marathon and Salamis. His Stile

is not so extravagant

but is at the same time too verbose, which often conceals his

other beauties.

Pericles in the oration Thucydides

gives as his in the Introduction of the Peloponesian

war, is more correct, less exuberant and extrava<ga>nt than the form<er>, strong and

nervous, Precise and pointed and carrys along not only a direct commendation of the

Athenians but an indirect discommendation of the Lacedemonians then their rivalls. His

beauties are | so manifest that I shall not insist on them any longer.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXII

[

] has not its deleted

[

] extra deleted

[1 ] Aeneid, viii.293–302: young and old ‘carmine laudes / Herculeas et facta ferunt’,

the celebratory hymn which precedes Evander’s narration to Aeneas of the early history

of Latium and their tour of places later to become known in Roman history. Smith has

conflated Evander with the ‘chorus’.

[

] MS difficuld or difficute

[2 ]

Hardyknute: imitation ballad by Elizabeth, Lady Wardlaw (1677–1727), published

anonymously as pamphlet in 1719; reprinted by Allan Ramsay with sixteen additional

stanzas in his Ever Green (1724) and in a slightly less ‘antique’ version in his Tea–Table

Miscellany ii (1726). The poem was earlier thought to contain lines remembered from

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some ancient lost ballad.

The Cherrie and the Slae, an allegorical debate by Alexander Montgomerie (1556?–

1610?), published 1597 but written considerably earlier; included in Ramsay’s Ever

Green (1724).

Tweedside: the tune ‘Twide Syde’ is known at least as early as 1692 (it also occurs in

the Blaikie MS as ‘Doune Tweedside’). A poem with the title and fitting the tune, by

Robert Crawford (c.1690–1733), is included in Ramsay’s Tea–Table Miscellany ii (1726);

and in a 1753 edition of the collection the preface quotes ‘My worthy friend Dr.

Bannerman . . . from America’ as attesting the popularity ‘round all the globe’ of, among

other things, ‘Tweed–side’. There is a poem in Scots with the same title by John Hay

(10th Lord Yester, 2nd Marquis of Tweeddale, 1645–1713), in David Herd’s Ancient and

Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads etc. (1769). We cannot determine which of many

popular Border poems Smith had in mind—or even rule out the most famous of Border

ballads, Chevy Chase or The Hunting of the Cheviot (Child, see below, no 162).

Lochaber no more: ‘A Song. Tune of Lochaber no more’, in Ramsay’s Tea–Table

Miscellany ii (1726). Its relevance here is not obvious.

Wallace Wight: perhaps one of the many ballads on Wallace’s exploits. F. J. Child,

English and Scottish Popular Ballads (1882–89), no 157, contains nine traditional

versions, some reported from several sources, though none entitled Wallace Wight: see

iii.265–74, v.242–3. In this context a reference to Blind Harry’s late 15th century poem

The lyfe and actis of William Wallace (printed 1570 etc.) is less likely. This was the

ballad–collecting age. (But in 1722 William Hamilton of Gilbertfield (1665?–1751)

published his epic Life and heroick actions of Sir William Wallace, in English).

[3 ]

See James Macpherson (1736–96), Fragments of ancient poetry collected in the

highlands of Scotland (1760), Fingal: an ancient epic poem (1762), Temora: an ancient

epic poem (1763). The controversy on the authenticity of these supposed translations

from ‘the Galic language’ began with Hugh Blair’s A critical dissertation on the poems of

Ossian (1763). See Derick S. Thomson, The Gaelic sources of Ossian (1952).

[

] music and deleted

[4 ] Cf. the discussion of poetry and other arts in primitive societies by John Brown, A

Dissertation on the Rise, Union, and Power, the Progressions, Separations, and

Corruptions, of Poetry and Music (1763), and Cartaud de la Villate, Essais historiques et

philosophiques sur le goût (1734): also ‘Of the Imitative Arts’ II.3 ff. in EPS.

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[5 ] See Introduction, p. 18.

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[6 ]

The wars with Persia which started at the beginning of the 5th century BC. By c.450

State funerals had become elaborate festivals: held in October.

[

] alone deleted

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] MS their, ir deleted

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] underlined with double row of dots

[7 ] Thales (c.636–c.546 BC) of Miletus in Ionia, one of the ‘Seven Sages’; cf.

Astronomy, III.5, in EPS. Pythagoras (6th century BC) emigrated from Samos to Croton

in the toe of Italy c.531

BC. Empedocles (c.493–433 BC) was originally of Acragas in

Sicily; master of Gorgias of Leontini in Sicily (c.483–376 BC), rhetorician and one of the

principal sophists. The scribe oddly substitutes Mitylene (or Mytilene), chief town of

Lesbos, for Leontini. The embassy of Gorgias from Leontini to Athens, epoch–making in

the history of rhetoric, was in 427.

[

] 118 is blank

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] the deleted

[8 ] The ancient Pythian Games were reorganized in 582 BC; to the main competitions

in music, drama, and recitation in verse and prose, were added athletic events in the

Olympic style. Similar festivals were the Panathenaea at Athens and the Carnea at

Sparta. See ii.51 n.4 above for the distinction Thucydides implies between himself and

those whose work is read publicly for applause.

[

] MS them; in deleted, Poets inserted above

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[9 ] Add the extant Encomium of Helen and Defence of Palamedes.

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[10 ] Thrasymachus of Chalcedon (floruit c.430–400 BC), rhetorician famed for his

elaboration of techniques for appealing to the emotions of hearers.—The ‘rapturous’

quality of Pindar came to be admired in the eighteenth century and partly accounted for

the vogue of the ‘Pindarique Ode’ (of which Gray’s two examples, The Bard and The

Progress of Poesy, were thought by Smith to represent ‘the standard of lyric excellence’:

see ii.96 n.12 above, and The Bee, 1791, iii.6). His disconnectedness, ‘immethodical to

a vulgar eye’, was seen by Edward Young in ‘On Lyric Poetry’ (prefaced to Ocean: an

Ode, 1728) as his essential virtue: ‘Thus Pindar, who has as much logic at the bottom

as Aristotle or Euclid, to some critics has appeared as mad, and must appear so to all

who enjoy no portion of his own divine spirit. Dwarf understandings . . .’ These words

were to be echoed in the classic statement of the point by Coleridge at the beginning of

Biographia Literaria: ‘Poetry, even that of the . . . wildest odes, had a logic of its own,

as severe as that of science; and more difficult, because more subtle . . .’. (Cf. Hume,

‘Of the Standard of Taste’, 15th paragraph from end, 1757).

[11 ]

LCL iii. 60–97.

[12 ]

An Attic orator and opponent of the statesman Demochares (c.360–275 BC),

nephew of Demosthenes. Isocrates (436–338 BC) could therefore not have addressed a

speech to him. The scribe has apparently conflated, as to names and content, the

orations to Demonicus and Nicocles, LCL i.4–35, 40–71. That to Nicocles, King of

Salamis in Cyprus from 374, is advice to a ruler. References to Dem. §§1–4; Nic. §§42–

4, 48–9.

[13 ]

Cicero, Orator, xiii: ‘leniter et crudite repugnante te’.

[

14 ] Epitaphios, for those who fell for the Corinthians, ?392 BC (LCL 30–69). Cf. ii.218

n.10 below.

[

] MS thre

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] brings in some deleted

[15 ]

Menexenus (LCL vii), funeral oration of Aspasia the Milesian as reported by

Socrates and praised as equal to the Periclean oration reported by Thucydides: §§5–21.

[

] extravangt

[16 ] I.cxl–cxliv, speech to the Athenians.

LECTURE XXIV

Mond.

Jan.

24 1763

SINE LIBRO EXCEPT WHAT HE READ FROM LIVY

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Having in the two foregoing Lectures made all the observations I think necessary on the

first Sort of Eloquence viz. the Demonstrative I come now to the 2

Sort, The

Deliberative. But before I enter particularly upon it; it will be proper to make some

observations on a spe<c>ies of writing more Simple than eithe<r> it or the Judicial. I

mean the Didactick; In which the design of the writer is to Lay Down a proposition and

prove this by the different arguments which lead to that conclusion.

If there be but one proposition ne<c>essary to be proved, there can be nothing more

simple; the best method here undoubtedly is; 1

To lay down the proposition, and

afterwards advance the Severall arguments that tend to prove it; which may be

summed up, or brought to conclude in the same terms as the Proposition. It is proper to

begin with laying down the | proposition, as the arguments advanced will by that means

make a greater impression on the mind, as it is evident at what they point, than if they

were delivered without informing us what was to be the conclusion.—But it will often

happen that in order to prove the capitall pro<po>sition it will be necessary to prove

severall subordinate ones. In this case we are first to lay down the proposition, and then

shew in what manner the truth of it depends on that of some other propositions, and

having proved these summ up the whole as before.

{Tis in this manner Lord Shaftesbury proceeds in his enquiry into the Nature

of Virtue

and also in that where he endeavours to prove that virtue is our greatest happiness.

Whether his Reasoning be sufficient or not, his method is perfect; and if the

subbordinate propositions are clearly proved the principall one must necessarily be

true.}

We are to observe however that these subordinate propositions should not be above 5

at most. When they exceed this number the mind can not easily comprehend them at

one view; and the whole runs into confusion. Three or there about is a very proper

number; and it is observed that this number is much more easily comprehended and

appears more complete than 2 or four. In the number 3 there is as it were a middle and

two extremes; but in two or | four there is no middle on which the attention can be so

fixt as that each part seems somewhat connected with it. The Rule is in this matter the

same as in Architecture;

the mind can not there comprehend a number at sight and

without counting above 9 or 10. Three is the number of all others the most easily

comprehended; we immediately perceive a middle and one on each side. {Swift

proposed a panegyrick on the number three

and this was one of the articles of its

commendation. There is un[n]doubtedly something in this number that makes it more

agreable than others. In Architecture, there being a middle one to which we first turn

our eyes, is a sufficient reason, tho it appears whimsicall when applied to writing. There

are more sermons and other discourses divided into this number of heads than into any

other.} In four there is no middle and tho in numbers of Windows or Columns it may be

easily enough comprehended yet it seems

awkward; and in Architecture there is one

evident defect as there is no regular place for the Door; 5 is easily comprehended, 1 in

the middle and 2 on the sides or three in the middle and one on each side. Six and

seven are in the same manner not difficult to comprehend, and in the same manner 9

as it may be divided into 3 times 3. But tho in Architecture we can comprehend this

number with tollerable readiness, we cannot in writing reach so far. Columns and

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windows are things exactly similar and are for that reason more easily compre|hended

as when we know one or two we know the whole. But the Propositions which are

brought as secondary to the primary one are often noways connected but as they all

tend to the same point; and we have not only the number but also the nature of each

proposition to remember.—It may often happen that it will be necessary to prove 14 or

15 subordinate propositions in order to confirm the principall one. In this case it is much

better to form three or 5 propositions

on which the truth of the principal one evidently

depends; and under each of these propositions to arrange 5 or 3 of those which are

necessary to confirm the primary one. The mind will much more easily comprehend the

propositions in the one case or the 20 in the other, than it will 15 which immediately

depend on the principall one without any intermediate steps. In the same manner in

Architecture, the architect generally makes one part of the building some way

distinguished from the rest, either | throws the middle farther back or advances it

further forwards than the sides; that is in case there be above 3 (or 5) windows or other

parts. By this means one may

with tollerable ease remember at least 15 or 16

Propositions, whereas in the other case the mind finds a considerable difficulty in going

above half that length. There are however sermons wrote about the time of the Civil

wars, which have not only 15

or 16

, but 20

thly

, 30

thly

or 40

thly

In architecture we can not only comprehend a considerable number of parts by

subdivisions, but by Sub–sub–divisions etc. we can go still farther. Thus if a building

was to contain 81 windows or columns, let these be thrown into 3 27s distinguished

remarkably from one another, the two side ones being similar; let each of these be

again divided into 3 9s, and these into 3 3s, and let each subdivision be remarkably

distinguished from the rest by a differen<t> order of architecture, or some other

variety; and one, tho’ not of very quick appre|hension will, if placed at a proper distance

readily conceive the order and number of the severall parts. But in writing it is

otherwise; Subsubdivisions etc. are not at all easily remembered; they always run into

confusion and become too intricate for our memory to comprehend. For this reason one

who was to read Aristottles Ethics or indeed any other of his works ten times over would

hardly have a distinct notion of the plan; the divisions, subdivisions and subsub etc.

divisions are carried so far that they produce the very effect he intended to have

avoided by them Viz. Confusion.

These Divisions and Subdivisions are very usefull not only in such didactic writings as

have in view the Proof of a Single proposition, but even in those where the Design is to

Deliver a System of any Scien<c>e e.g. Naturall Philosophy; the divisions assist the

memory in tracing the connection of the severall parts. In Judiciall Eloquen<c>e it is

often indispensably necessary. Facts and Points | of Law often occur which cannot be

decided without the proof of severall previous propositions and in this case the Divisions

and subdivisions are to be applied in the same manner as that above mention’d. But in

Deliberative Eloquence there is seldom any occasion for it. This is not to say that no

order or method <is> to be observed, which there is without doubt, but only that the

arguments to be used in this case where we would persuade others either to do or not

to do something, to make peace or continue war, to fight or not to fight,

are either so

evident and conclusive and make it so plainly appear to be honourable, attainable, and

for the advantage of those we would persuade, that there is no occasion for ranging

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them in a set order. Or if they happen not to be entirely plain and conclusive

it is the

business of the Orator to make them appear so. Now, a long chain of metaphysicall

arguments one deduced from another do not promise to have this appearance in the

opinion of such people as an audience where these | orations are delivered generally

consists of. And altho the arguments were really conclusive, yet the appearance of so

much subtility and Laboured trains of argument would make it very much to be

suspected that the arguments were not altogether solid and conclusive.

{Aristotle

makes no use of Division and Subdivision in any of his Deliberative Orations

tho he frequently does in his Judicial ones. Cicero in those which are the best in the

Deliberative makes no divisions, and very sparingly in any of that Sort.}

There are two methods in which a didacticall writing

containing an account of some

system may be delivered; Either 1

we Lay down one or a very few principles by which

we explain the severall Rules, or Phaenomena, connecting one with the other in a

natural order, or else we beginn with telling that we are to explain such and such things

and for each advance a principle either different or the same with those which went

before. Virgil in his Georgics follows the latter method; His design is to give us a System

of Husbandry; in the 1

he gives us directions for the Cultivation of corn, in the 2

Trees, in the 3

of Cattle and in the 4

of the Insects called the Bees. If Virgill had |

begun with enquiring into the pri<n>ciple of vegetation, what was proper to augment it

and e contra; In what proportions it was in different soils and what nourishment the

different plants required, and putting all these together had directed us what culture

and what soil was proper for every different plant, this would have been following the

method which is

without doubt the most philosophicall one. In the same way in

Nat<urall> Phil<osophy> or any other Science of that Sort we may either like Aristotle

go over the Different branches in the order they happen to cast up to us, giving a

principle commonly a new one for every phaenomenon; or in the manner of Sir Isaac

Newton we may lay

down certain principles known

or proved in the beginning, from

whence we

account for the severall Phenomena, connecting all together by the same

Chain.—This Latter which we may call the Newtonian method is undoubtedly the most

Philosophical, and in every scien<c>e w<h>ether of Moralls or Nat<urall>

phi<losophy> etc., is vastly more ingenious and for that reason more engaging than the

other. | It gives us a pleasure to see the phaenomena which we reckoned the most

unaccountable

all deduced from some principle (commonly a wellknown one) and all

united in one chain, far superior to what we feel from the unconnected method where

everything is accounted for by itself without any referen[e]ce to the others. We need

<not> be surprised then that the Cartesian Philosophy (for Des–Cartes was in reality

the first who attempted this method) tho it does not perhaps [perhaps] contain a word

of truth,

and to us who live in a more enlighten’d age and have more enquired into

these matters it appears very Dubious, should nevertheless have been so universally

received by all the Learned in Europe at that time. The Great Superiority of the method

over that of Aristotle, the only one then known, and the little enquiry which was then

made into those matters, made them greedily receive a work which we justly esteem

one of the most entertaining Romances that has ever been wrote.

The Didacticall

method tho undoubtedly the | best in all matters of Science, is hardly

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ever applicable to Rhetoricall discourses. The People, to which they are ordinarily

directed, have no pleasure in these abstruse deductions; their interest, and the

practicability and honourableness of the thing recommended is what alone will sway

with them and is seldom to be shewn in a long deduction of arguments.

As there are two methods of proceeding in didacticall discourses, so there are two in

Deliberative eloquence which are no less different, and are adapted to very conterary

circumstances. The 1

may be called the Socratick method, as it was that which, if we

may trust the dialogues of Xenophon and Plato, that Philosopher generally made use. In

this method we keep as far from the main point to be proved as possible, bringing on

the audience by slow and imperceptible degrees to the thing to be proved, and by

gaining their consent to some things whose tendency they | cant discover, we force

them at last either to deny what they had before agreed to, or to grant the Validity of

the Conclusion. This is the smoothest and most engaging manner.

The other is a harsh and unmannerly one where we affirm the thing we are to prove,

boldly at the Beginning, and when any point is controverted beginn by proving that very

thing and so on, this we may call the Aristotelian method as we know it was that which

he used.

These 2 methods are adapted to the two conterary cases in which an orator may be

circumstanced with regard to his audience, they may either have a favourable or

unfavourable opinion of that which he is to prove. That is they may be

prejudiced for or

they may be prejudiced against. In the 2

Case we are to use the Socratic method, in

the 1

str

the Aristotelian. I do not mean by this that we are to suppose that in any case

the Orator and his audience are to hold a dialogue with each other, or that they | are

go on by granting small demand<s> or by boldly denying what the other affirms; but

only that when the audience is

favourable we are to begin with the proposition and set

it out Roundly before them as it must be most for our advantage in this case to shew at

the first we are of their opinion, the arguments we advance gain strength by this

precaution. On the other hand if they are prejudiced against the Opinion to be

advanced; we are not to shock them by rudely affirming what we are satisfied is

dissagreable, but are to conceal our design and beginning at a distance bring them

slowly on to the main point and having gained the more remote ones we get the nearer

ones of consequence.—The 1

is exemplified in the Oration of

Titus Quinctius

Capitolinus and the latter in that of Appius Claudius Crassus, in Livy.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXIII

[

] Judicial deleted; Deliberative written large, so also Didactick (below)

[

] Nature inserted by Hand B in blank left

[1 ]

An Inquiry concerning Virtue or Merit, Treatise iv in Characteristicks of Men,

Manners, Opinions, Times (1711). This treatise had first appeared in an unauthorised

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edition as An Inquiry concerning Virtue in two Discourses (1699). Cf. i.10 n.10 above.

Also Treatise vi, Miscellany iv.1; and Treatise v, The Moralists, Part II.

[2 ]

This passage rests on the ancient mnemonic system recommended to orators, by

which they associated parts of their speech with places and images, especially with

parts of a building, e.g. a temple. See Rhetorica ad Herennium (LCL), III.xxiii–xxiv;

Cicero, De Oratore, I.xxxiv.157, II.lxxxvii–lxxxviii; Quintilian, XI.ii.17–26. Frances A.

Yates brings the history of the idea up to the seventeenth century in The Art of Memory

(1966), especially chapters VI–VII, XV–XVI.

[3 ]

In A Tale of a Tub, Section I, The Introduction, §4, Swift mocks the mysticism of

numbers: ‘. . . Philosophers and great Clerks, whose chief Art in Division has been to

grow fond of some proper mystical Number, which their Imaginations have rendered

Sacred. . . . The profound Number THREE is that which hath most employ’d my

sublimest Speculations, nor ever without wonderful Delight’. He has in the press ‘a

Panegyrical Essay of mine upon this Number’, rescuing certain things from its ‘two great

Rivals SEVEN and NINE’.

[

] to be deleted

[

] which deleted

[

] 18 is clear

[

] not only deleted

[

] last twelve words vertically in margin

[

] then deleted

[4 ]

Error for Demosthenes.

[

] is delivered deleted

[

] MS in

[

] MS law

[5 ] This interlined word, confused with descenders and ascenders in the adjacent lines,

had not been correctly read when WN (see 3, 769 n 17) was published in this series.

[

] deduce deleted

[

] for deleted

[6 ]

On Smith’s views on Descartes cf. The Letter to the Edinburgh Review (EPS 244),

TMS VII.ii.4. 14, and Astronomy IV.61 ff. (EPS 92).

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[

] the scribe, in error, has Rhetoricall

[

] There are 2 metho deleted; then new paragraph

[

] either deleted

[

] replaces latter

[

] either deleted

[

] un deleted

[

] Appius deleted

[7 ] Respectively VII.xl (speeches of Marcus Valerius Corvus and Titus Quinctius to their

opposing troops, ending in reconciliation), and V.iii–vi (the ‘practised orator’ Appius

Claudius addresses the Quirites during the Veientine campaign).

LECTURE XXV.

Wed. Jan.

26. 1763

Having in the foregoing Lecture given you all the observations I think necessary with

regard to Deliberative Eloquence; I might now according to the method I proposed

proceed to point out the proper method of choosing the arguments and the manner of

arranging them as well as the Expression. But Directions of this sort can seldom be of

any advantage. The arguments that are to be used before a people cannot be very

intricate; the Proposition generally requires no proof at all and when it does the

arguments are of themselves so evident as not to require any elaborate

explanation.

There must be in this case no nicety nor refinement, no metaphysicall arguments, these

would both be altogether superfluous in the circumstances an orator is gene|rally in and

can very selldom be in any shape applicable. As the arguments are in themselves so

simple, there can be no great nicety required in the arrangement. And in generall in

every sort of eloquence[e] the choise of the arguments and the proper arrangement of

them is the least difficult matter. The

Expression and Stile is what requires most skill

and is alone capable of any particular directions. We see accordingly that Cicero,

Quinctilian

and all the best authors who treat of Rhetoricall composition, treat of the

Invention of arguments, or Topicks, and the composition or arrangement of them, as

very slight matter and of no great difficulty, and never see[e]m to be in ernest unless

when they give us directions concerning the ornaments of Language and Expression;

and even this in the maner the<y> have handled it does not appear to be of very great

| importance,

tho it might without doubt be treated of so as to be both entertaining

and instructive. I shall therefore omitt these altogether and come to the last thing

proposed, that is to give you some account of the

authors who have excelled in this

manner of writing. I shall follow the same plan too in Judicial Eloquence, for after having

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explain’d the Generall nature and principles of that sort of Eloquence I shall proceed to

give an account of the chief orators and the manners of the different writers in this

manner both with respect to Greece and Rome, and the English writers. I shall however

take up some longer time on the nature of the Judicial eloquence, as here in the proving

of facts or points of Law a good deal of nice and delicate Reasoning and argumentation

may be introduced which, as I said, the Deliberative hardly ever admit of, and for that

reason is the simplest of all the three Spe<c>ies of Eloquence.

| I shall in this Lecture give you some account of the Manner of Demosthenes’s

Deliberative orations, and then of Ciceros.

Of 16 Deliberative orations which have come down to us under the name of

Demosthenes 2 are plainly the work of a different hand, probably of Hegesippus;

they

have a rusticity and coarseness of expression with an affectation of force which is very

unlike the manner of our orator: these orations are that

and that

Of the 14 remaining

ones 10 are either employed to excite the Athenians to war with Philip of Macedon or to

encourage them to prosecute it with vigour. The other 4 are on Different Subjects but as

their design is much the same as that of the Philippics I shall say nothing concerning

them, confining my observations intirely to the Philippics, and take as an instance of the

manner of Demosthenes that of them which is called the 3

, and is the 2

Olynthian

oration, not that it is the most elegant or the finest of his | Orations, which in my

Opinion is that περι χερσουησου, but as it will as well shew the peculiar manner of the

author.

That we may the better understand his manner and the Observations on it, it will be

necessary to consider briefly the state the Athenian affairs were in at the time these

Orations were composed. The Government of Athens was long before that time become

altogether Democraticall; the Council of the Areopagus, which was composed of the

nobility and Chief men of the Commonwealth, was altogether abolished and that great

Check on the Fury of the People removed. The Council

and the Pritaneum which

made parts of the Aristocraticall government were then laid aside and no barrier

remaind against the unruly multitude. But still it was the Nobility which directed the

management of Publick affairs. The Ballance of Wealth and Rank on their side gave

them also the Ballance of Power. The lower Rank were not conspicuous enough to have

| a chance for the Regulation of affairs. The Battle

of Platea,

where by the advice of

Pericles

the Soldiers first received pay from the Publick gave the first beginning to the

Democraticall government,

and the Commerce which followed it strengthed that

change. Commerce gave the lowest of the people an opportunity of raising themselves

fortunes and by that means power. They had by the government an equall chance for all

magistracies with the greatest of the nobles, and by their wealth were enabled to have

equall weight with the People. This it was which introduced the great change in the

tempers of the people and the means of gaining their favour. Before that time one who

had a mind to gain the favour of the people and have influence with them, as Riches

were not to be got in the state was generally obliged

to make his | end by planning out

new expeditions and new wars, by which the people might be enriched. Those who

executed these schemes best were those who had most of their favour. There was

therefore no one ever at the head of affairs who had not distinguished himself by

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military exploits. {But afterwards we find this was little attended for at the beginning of

the Peloponesian war we find Cleon

at the head of the State, and in the end

Theramenes

and

neither of whom had ever been any way distinguished by military

glory; and of the 10 Orators who in their turn directed the affairs of Athens none unless

Demosthenes had ever seen a battle.} The Athenians were on this account the most

enterprising and active people in all Gree<c>e; Insomuch that the Chief Leaders and

directors had as great difficulty in restraining them as afterward in rousing them to

war.

Commerce and Luxury intirely altered the state of affairs; They gave the Lowest

an opportunity of raising themselves to an equality with the nobles; and the nobles an

easy way of reducing themselves to the state of the meanest citizen. In this state

forreign wars was not the way most likely to give wealth to the People; those therefore

who desired to ingratiate themselves did not | take that method; they found it easier to

give them riches which they had no title to from the Plunder of their fellow citizens than

from the Spoils of their enemies.

The first thing they did was to procure them a pay in war; which tho it might appear of

no great consequence yet had a great effect on the nature of the government.

Commerce, as it introduced trade or manufacture into all the

members of the State

made them unwilling to attend the courts. There were three courts each of 500 men

where private causes were tried and these 3 were joined in all public or criminall

debates. These being

chosen by lot from the poorest as well as the richest would be

very unwilling to leave their work for an employment which brought them no profit.

Pericles therefore to gain the favour of the Public brought it about that every judge who

attended the court should get two Oboli about 3

per Diem.— | Nay so far did this

method go that one Eubulus

or Eubulides made a law that every citizen should receive

the same summ from the Community in order to enable him to attend the Theatre, that

is in our language to pay for his ticket to the Play. This was the foundation of all their

dissorders. Demosthenes opposed it but without effect, and a Law was afterwards made

which made it capitall in any one to propose to Repeal it. From this time the People

became altogether idle and unnactive; they re<c>eived the same pay for sitting at

home and doing nothing but attending the publick Diversions as they did for serving

their country abroad, and the

former was without question the easiest duty.—Military

Glory had then no weight; the orators ruled the People coaxing them with new schemes

of additional wealth and often overruled the most experienced commanders, turning

them, continuing them or changing them | as they thought fit. Levies were then seldom

voted and where they were, as seldom made. The Athenians from being the most

enterprising people in Greece were now become the most idle and innactive. They who

had such a spirit for enterprize that they had frequently in their wars with Lacedemon,

Syracuse and other States, risqued their whole strength to the fortune of a battle, which

sometimes ruined the state at least for a time.

In this state were the Athenians when Philip of Macedon arose. This prince soon made

himself formidable to them by his enterprizing and Politicall conduct; The States of

Greece were all sensible of their danger and wanted nothing to

cause them declare war

but a proper leader. The Lacedemonians were ruined by the Battle of Leuctra.

The

Thebans were powerfull but universally hated. The Athenians alone remained fit for this

post. They accordingly were pitched | upon for the Leaders of the War And immediately

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declared war. But tho they declared war they did not go to action. Levies where decreed

were never made. Fleets and treasure were to be sent out but never sailed, and nothing

was done with any spirit or activity. They saw their danger, but as war

did not promise

them any advancement of their fortunes they could hardly be prevaild to

engage in it.

Demosthenes took upon him to stir up the Athenians to a more vigorous Conduct, and

this is the Subject of his Philippick orations.

His manner is that of one who spoke to a

favourable audience; for tho the Athenians were sluggish and Dilatory in undertaking

the war they saw well enough that it was for the good of the State but as it promised

them no private advantage they would not be very eager to engage in it. For this

reason

he never insists much on the reasonableness of the war; nor on the

practicability of succeeding | in it, for it was universally allowd that they were a match

for their enemies. He dwells more on the growing Power of Philip and the Danger Delay

would expose them to and prompts them to exert themselves and Repeal the Law of

Eubulus. His expression and manner is such as becomes one of Sense and dignity, with

a sort of Innate pride, and contempt for those who opposed him. This makes him

frequently rather expostulate with them

on the folly of their conduct than shew them

the practicability or advantage of more vigorous measures. In this strain he often

condescends to downright Scolding and gives them very opprobrious and Scurrilous

language, but never in a manner improper for a man of Dignity and authority. He does it

in a manner natural to one who reproves those whom he is sorry to see acting amiss

tho they know the right; and hence he is always remarkably strong and passionate. {He

however never lays the blame on the peoples want of courage or spirit but on the false

arguments and seductive counsel of the Orators who, bribed as he said by Philip and

from other private motives, dissuaded the People from what they well knew was their

real interest. It is to be observed that in no former war, tho they were often carri’d on

with more wealthy nations than Macedon, yet this accusation was never so much as

mentioned. The reason is not because the orators

were | then

less liable to take such

gratuities, but because what was conterary to the interest of the country could not then

be of any weight, nor would be at all Received.}

In the Course | of the affairs with Philip it happened that the City of Olynthus a port of

some note on the coast of Macedon was brought by Presents and sollicitations into the

interest of Philip. The Athenians were very sollicitous to bring them over to their

interest. This they accordingly obtaind; the Olynthians declared war on Philip.

But

when Demosthenes was using his best endeavours to prompt the Athenians to a

vigorous defence of their allies, the other Orators amused them with debates concerning

what Punishment they should inflict on Philip when they had got him into their Power.

’Twas on this occasion Demosthenes spoke the Olynthian oration above mentiond.—We

may observe that Sallust has copied this speech

in that which he puts into the mouth

of Cato and has even gone so far as to translate the first sentence, which could not suit

that Cause.

ENDNOTES

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[1 ]

Invention and arrangement, says Cicero (Orator, xiv–xv, 44–49), are matters of

prudentia rather than eloquentia, common to all activities, and he will treat them briefly.

Quintilian echoes this. They are the duties of the orator, not parts of the subject–matter

of rhetoric (III.iii.1); the untrained can do them (VIII.iii.2).

[

] MS important

[

] Best deleted

[2 ] See ii.151 n.1 below.

[

f–f

] two blanks of about ten letters each in MS

[3 ]

From the time of Cleisthenes at the end of the sixth century

the Council (boulé)

consisted of 500 members; its business was prepared by 50 of these, the prytaneis (the

prytaneum, the word Smith apparently applied to this committee).

[

] blank of eight letters in MS

[4 ] Battle of Plataea (479BC) at which Mardonius and the Persian forces were defeated

by the Greeks under Pausanias.—The account given in this lecture of judicial and

administrative procedures in Greece (and, later, in Rome) may be compared with

passages in the parallel course Smith was in the habit of giving on jurisprudence: see

index to LJ, s.v. Greece, democracy, judges, judicial power, Athens, Lacedaemon, etc.,

and under the ancient authors there cited.

[

] Platea circled in MS: then and the B deleted

[

] inserted by Hand B in blank left

[

] true Democraticall government great change deleted

[

] by the pay which was at that time appointed to the People deleted

[

] to have recourse deleted

[

] inserted by Hand B in two blanks left; in the first Hand A had written only C

[5 ] On Cleon cf. ii.176 n.1 and 179 below.—Theramenes and Critias were two of the

Thirty Tyrants who seized power in 404 BC; in the reign of terror which followed, the

extremist Critias had Theramenes the moderate executed, but he was himself killed in

Jan. 403; after which a governing Board of Ten was appointed. Aristotle (Politics 1305

26) names Charicles rather than Critias as the leader of the extremists.

[

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[

] them to war changed from their Courage

[

] State deleted

[

] ele deleted

[6 ] Eubulus (c.405–c.335) as a member of the Theoric Commission came to control

the finances of Athens and to stop state extravagance. In 348 he had a measure passed

which made it difficult for state revenue to be used for inessential military projects. The

system of payments referred to above originated long before his time; it was ended in

338

BC.

[

] latter are deleted

[

] end deleted

[7 ]

371 BC, victory of Epaminondas and the Thebans over Cleombrotus and the

Spartans.

[

] replaces it

[

] follo deleted

[8 ] See ii.141 above: four Philippic orations, 351–41 BC; three Olynthiacs, 349 BC.

[

] they deleted

[

] MS him

[

] replaces people

[

] much more deleted

[9 ]

In 349 BC Demosthenes delivered his three speeches advocating Athenian support

for Olynthus against Philip II of Macedon: cf. ii.141 above.

[10 ]

Bellum Catilinae, lii; Marcus Porcius Cato’s speech to the Senate is an echo of

Demosthenes, Olynthiac iii.1: take precautions against plotters instead of discussing

how you will punish them when you have caught them.

LECTURE XXVI

Monday Jan

, 31. 1763

In the last Lecture I endeavoured to give you some notion of the Manner and Spirit of

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the Deliberative orations of Demosthenes. Besides them there have no Deliberative

orations of any of the Greek Orators come down to our time: Unless we should reckon

those two περι χαλονησον and περι των µετ’ Αλεξανδρον συνθηκων,

which are

commonly ascribed to Demosthenes; But more probably were composed by Hegesippus.

But who ever be the author of them, they are certainly not Demosthenes’s, they are

altogether silly and triviall and are not of merit sufficient to deserve any consideration.

We shall therefore proceed <to> the Deliberative orations of Cicero which are the chief

ones that remain in the Latin Language. These we shall find are of a very different

Genius from those of Demosthenes. They have a certain Gravity and affectation of

dignity which <those> of the latter want

. It is commonly said the Latin is a grave and

Solemn Language and much more so than the Greek which is | said to be a merry and

Sprightly one. It were easy to shew that all languages Greek and Latin not excepted are

equally ductile and equally accommodated to all different tempers. The Stile indeed of

the Latin authors has much more of Solemnity and affected dignity and ornament than

that of the Greek authors. The difference betwixt Stile and Language is often not

attended to, and has not been observed by severall authors, tho they be in themselves

very different: And to this

it is owing that what is true only of the Stile of the Writers

has been ascribed to the nature and temper of the Language itself.

That we may better understand the particular temper and Genius of Ciceros manner of

writing and the Causes of it; It will be proper to make some observations on the State

of the Roman Commonweal and the temper of the People at the time he wrote. Which

tho one of the most important parts of History is generally too little insisted on by

authors, and understood | by very few.

Before this time the great distinctions of the people had been in a great measure

abolished; all magistracies were now become attainable by the whole of the multitude.

Those magistracies which were formerly the peculiar province of the Patricians were laid

upon to every one. The Senatoriall dignity, the office of the Praetor, Censor, Ædile etc.

(which were called the Curule magistracies) were no longer confind to the old Patricians.

The factions of the State were formerly those of the Patricians and Plebeians; the

differences and contentions which sprung up after the expulsion of the Kings all arose

from the rivalship of those two bodies. But by these continu’d contentions the

magistracies and all of power and profit were by degrees open’d to the People. From

these immense riches and immence power and interest were often acquired by

individualls, both of the | Patrician and the nobler Plebeian Families. There are many

instances of immense fortunes raised by the oppression of those who were under the

Power and direction of the different officers. The Proconsul Verres may serve as an

instan<c>e of this; and there are many of as extraordinary and immense power

obtain’d by those who instead of oppressing chose to ingratiate themselves with those

whom they had under their Subjection, Ma<r>ius, Cinna etc.—The authority of the

Senate was now indeed little more than nominal; they could make no Laws nor transact

any business of importance without the consent and approbation of the people; Some

few offices remained at their disposall; but their approbation to the decrees of the

people was in most cases no more than a mere form. There had indeed been some

attempts to reinstate the Patricians in their former authority and | Sylla even made laws

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to this effect, but the alteration made by them was so great that they were

allowed to

subsist no longer than the power of him who introduced them. By this means the old

Parties of Patrician and Plebeian were at an end. It was now as much the interest of the

chief men of the Plebeians to support the authority of the

Senate and other dignified

offices as it had formerly been to curb them. The power or wealth they had acquired or

had a prospect of acquiring by them, were sufficient motives for them to promote the

authority of those office[e]s and the depression of those who were subject to them. This

joint interest formed a division amongst the Citizens somewhat similar but considerably

different from the old one. On[e] the one side were all the Richer and more powerfull of

the Citizens, whe|ther Patrician or Plebeians; all who had either enjoyed the offices of

Power and profit or those who had a prospect of reaping those advantages. That is to

say the People of fashion; all who would go under the Denomination of Gentlemen.

These were called Optimates, a word signifying no more than that they were, as we

would say, the better sort, people of fashion.—The other faction was those of the

Plebeians who had not power nor riches to make them considerable nor any hopes of

arriving at those offices which would make it in their power to obtain them. These were

the lowest most despicable people imaginable, supported chiefly by the Donations of the

nobles. They were the Rabble and Mob, and a most wretched and miserable set of men

imaginable. These would for their | own safety oppose the Oppression and extortion of

the nobles, and attach themselves to those who to gain Power and weight in the

common wealth courted the favour of this order. The method <of> these men, who

from their attachment to the Populace were called Populares, was to propose Laws for

the equall division of Lands and the distributing of Corn at the Publick charge, or else by

Largesses and bounties bestowed out of their own private fortune.

Of this sort were

Clodius, Marius and others.

The effects therefore of the communication of the magistracies and the laying them

open to all the people were very different at Rome from what they were at Athens.

Neither the territory of the commonwealth nor the authority of the magistrates was so

considerable as to put it in the power | of those who filled the offices of State to acquire

any extraordinary Riches and consequently gave them less opportunity of courting the

favour of the multitude with success. By this means the magistracies continued open to

all those who had merit enough to deserve them and gained the favour of their fellow

citizens. The innequality of fortune was not so great as to make any distinction amongst

the Citizens. 5 Talents was reckon’d a great

estate for an Athenian citizen; for we find

Demosthenes Reproaching his Rival Æschines

with not having celebrated with

sufficient magnificence some public Show; for says he ‘You can not plead poverty in

your defence as you was then worth above 5 Talents’.

A 100 times that would have

been but a very moderate fortune at Rome. And Demosthenes

also mentions that his

Brother in Law would have been one of the richest men in Athens as his Father left him

52 Tals. | The poorest Citizens might here by trade raise themselves fortunes equall to

those of the most wealthy. As there was therefore no considerable distinction of

Fortune, so there was properly but one rank of Citizens; the highest were Citizens and

no more and the lowest had the same priviledge. In Rome on the other hand, the great

power and immense wealth which were attendant on all the Chief offices of the State

soon destroyed that equality which the communication of the magistracies meant to

establish. The People was therefore divided into two Factions, that of the Optimates and

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that of the Populares. The first comprehended all those who had either enjoyed or had a

reasonable expectation of enjoying the magistracies; that is, the few Remaining Old

Patricians and all the Noble Plebeian familys and those who had power or interest to

advance themselves. In the other were all the Plebeians who were not noble nor had

any expectations of raising themselves to offices by which they might attain Power or

Riches. | These (as I said) were a most wretched and destitute set of men; they

depended for their very subsistence 1

on the liberality of the Candidates in their

Largesses at Elections, which were indeed often prohibited

and could not afterwards be

publickly avowed; but it was a vain attempt to hinder the people from accepting of such

presents for their votes, or the Candidates from endeavouring to carry their Elections by

that means; or 2

dly

on the Distributions of Corn or other necessarys which were made

by the publick either for no price or at a low one. There was here no middle Rank

betwixt those who had the greatest

wealth and power and those who were in the most

abject poverty and dependance. The Knights in the earlier periods were a sort of middle

betwixt the Plebeians and the Patricians and somewhat restrained the extravagancies of

either. They were at this time horsemen, Equites, and were distinguished from the rest

of the people by the manner of their service.

| We may observe that knights in all countries were mere horsemen originally, but when

military service was not so much used they have become of a very different Rank.

knight in this country is a very different person from a dragoon.—In the same manner

the Roman Equites were at first those who composed the Cavallry. But after the Victory

of Marius over the Cimbri, they were never employed in that service. They were soon

[er] after allowed to be Elected into the Senate, and from that time became of the same

party with the remaining Patricians and other nobles. As there was but one order at

Athens so there was properly only two

orders at Rome, the great and the populace.

Besides this the Athenians and the Romans treated their favourites

in a very different

manner. All appearance <of> pride or extrao<r>dinary authority or presumption of any

sort was looked <on> at Athens with a jealous eye. The people were offended with

Alcibiades their greatest favourite, for wearing a dress | somewhat more splendid than

was ordinarily worn by the Citizens. But the Luxury of Lucullus or the Splendor of

Pompey, were not objects of Jealousy to the Romans. Tho the Athenians could not allow

Alcibiades to go gayly dressed the Romans beheld without suspicion Pompey attended

by the flower of the young nobility, a great part of the Senate and the chief men of the

City.

{The people never at this time opposed the growing power of their favourites, all they

did was looked on with the greatest ease. The only check they met with was from the

opposition and conterary endeavours of the other nobility who in the same manner

strove to get to the head of affairs.}

The Nobleman of Rome would, then, find himself greatly superior to the far greater part

of [a] mankind; He would see at Rome 1000 who were his inferiors for one who was

even his equalls; and anywhere else there would be none would could

compare with

him in power or wealth. Finding himself thus superior to most about him he would

contract a great opinion of his own dignity. He would have an air of superiority in all his

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behaviour. As he spoke generally to his inferiors he would talk in a manner becoming

one in that Station. Respect and deference would be what he thought his due as one of

superior dignity and his behaviour would aim at approving himself to be such. His

discourse | would be pompous and <o>rnate and such as appeard to be the language of

a superior sort of man.

At Athens on the other hand the Citizens were all on equall footing; the greatest and the

meanest were considered as being noway distinguished, and lived and talkd together

with the greatest familiarity. Difference of fortune or employment did not hinder the

ease and familiarity of behaviour. It is observed that there is no Politeness or

Compliments in the Dialogues of Plato; whereas those of Cicero abound with them.

Particularly in his Dialogues de Oratore, the noblemen he introduces talk in the most

Polite manner and pay one another the greatest respect, and commend in the most

complimenting Stile. Plato again introduces persons of the most unequall Dignity or

Power in the State talking with the greatest freedom And familiarity such as would

appear very odd at this day amongst people of such differen<t> stations

; and there is

generally one person who roasts, tiezes and exposes the others without mercy, and

often with a turn of humour which would not <be> at this day altogether polite or even

decent.—In the one country the People at least the Nobles would converse

and

harangue with Dignity, | Pomp and the air of those who speak with authority. The

language of the others would be that of freedom, ease and familiarity. The one is that

where the speaker is supposed to be of Superior Dignity and author<ity> to his hearers

and the other is that of one who talks to his equalls. Pomp and Splendor suit the former

well enough but would appear presumption in the other.

These considerations may serve to explain many of the differences in the manners and

Stile of Demosthenes and Cicero.—The latter

talks with the Dignity and authority of a

superior and the former with the ease of an equall. Cicero therefore studies allways

add what ever

may give this appearance to his Stile even on the most trivial occasions,

and the other talks with ease and familiarity even when he is the most earnest and

vehement. {Demosthenes abounds with all the Common phrases and Idioms, and

Proverbs; Cicero on the other hand avoids all Idiomaticall turns or other Vulgar

expressions with the greatest care.} Cicero abounds with all those figures of spee<ch>

which are thought to give dignity to language; his Stile is always correct and to the

highest degree, | with the greatest propriety of expression and the strictest observance

of grammaticall propriety. This makes it evident that the author conceives himself to be

of importance, and dignity; For this exact and ornate stile shows that every word is

premeditated and that he has settled before he begun the sentence in what manner he

was to conclude it.

There are certain forms of Speech which are peculiar to common conversation; and

plainly appear to proceed from the carelessness of the speaker, who had not resolved

when he begun his sentence in what manner he was to end it. These are called

νακολουθα i.e. unconnected, without consequence; Where the one part of the

sentence is of a different Grammaticall construction from the other. The Greek writers

abound with this figure, but none more than Xenophon and Demosthenes. I shall

mention an instance from each to explain the matter. Xenophon: The sentence in Latin

would run thus, Hephaestus et Menon, quoniam sunt amici vestrum, remittite nobis; the

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gram<maticall> const<ruction> plainly would require here that he should have

Hephestum et Menona etc. In the same manner | we would say in easy conversation,

Hephestus and Menon as they are your friends, send them back to us; instead of, Send

back etc. Or, John or James suchathing

, I know not what is become of him; instead of,

I do not know, or I know no<t> what is become etc. The one we would use in

conversation or familiar letter

writing and the latter in a formal discourse or in writing

a history. This has been much used by Demosthenes and other Greeks; but Cicero and

most Latin[e] writers have entirely rejected it, as well as almost all modern authors; as

it testifies a great degree of carelessness in the speaker. The instance in Demosthenes

I do not remember, but there are two places in the same sentence where the forgoing

[me]member by the means of some words would require the subsequent to have been

altogether of an other form.

Again Demosthenes’ periods are for the most part short and concise,

without any

redundancy of expression; Whereas Cicero always runs out into a long train of

connected [me]members even on the most simple subject. And even when

Demosthenes is obliged by the quantity of matter which crouds | in upon him to form a

long period he never affects those ornaments of similarity of cadence and uniformity of

length in the severall members, which is so much studied by Cicero.—This difference is

very visible in their Deliberative orations but still more in their Judiciall ones.

Again, the familiar

ease with which Demosthenes writes makes him often use

illustrations or examples as well as expressions that appear rather low and ludicrous

This is remarkable in his comparisons where he often compares things of the greatest

importance to others of a very conterary nature. Thus he compares the p<eople>

sending a fleet to

after it had been plundered and destroyed to a Boxer who always

clapt his hand to the place where he felt the smart of the last blow, without attending to

parry off the approaching ones or lay on any himself.

Cicero on the other hand

compares the most triviall things, and that too when he is Rallying, with the most

serious, as for instance; he says

that the conduct of Mithridates in leaving his treasure

in Pontus, which by employing the troops in plunder | gave the King himself time to

escape, was like that of Medea who to retard the pursuit of her father tore her Brother

in pieces and strewed his limbs on the sea, that she whil[e]st her father was employed

in taking them up might have time to escape.

These differences in the Stile of these orators may probably arise from the different

condition of the countries in which they lived; the tempers of the men had

no doubt

also have had their effects. The vanity and pride if you will call it so which Cicero was

possessed of may perhaps have made him more ornate and pompous than the temper

of his audience would have required, and on the other hand the severity and downright

plainess of Demosthenes may have made him more bare and careless than even the

familiarity and equallity of his countrymen would have required. To this too it may be

owing that Demosthenes is at no pains to Repeat or expatiate on his subject, which

Cicero as we hinted always studies.

This much with regard to the expression and man|ner of writing. As to the matter and

the arrangement these two great Orators seem to have succeded with equall good

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fortune. The matter and the arrangement of Demos<thenes> as we said is almost

always the same, as his Design is the same and his audience favourable. Those of

Cicero are more various in all these respects; but his success in adapting himself to the

severall exigencies of the cause is no less conspicuous.

Such then are the different manners of Dem<osthenes> and Cicero, both adapted to

the state of their country, and perhaps had they been practised in the other countries

they would have been less succ[c]essfull. Brutus

and

we are told attempted this which

they called the Attick eloquence, and blamed Cicero for the unpolishd and bold method

of his orations. But we do not find that their success was at all comparable to that of

Cicero, or of Hortensius

and

the first of

which if we may believe Cicero was still more

florid and ornate | than he; and the other appears from the fragments preserved by

Quintilian

to have been very pretty and very florid, just like Cicero. This study of

Ornament and Pomp was common not only to all the Roman orators but to the

Historians and the poets themselves. Thus Livy and Tacitus are much more ornate etc.

than Herodotus and Thucydides; Virgill and, Propertius than Homer and Hesiod;

than

Theognis

etc.; and Lucretius the most simple of all the Roman Poets is far more ornate

than Hesiod. When this Study is so generall we may be well assured that it proceeded

not from any pecularity or humour of the writers but from the nature and temper of the

nation. Tis this ornate manner I would have you chiefly remark in Cicero. It appears

indeed most in his Judiciall orations. The one I shall translate is the fourth Catalinan

one.

I translate it not because I in the least imagine there are any of you here who

would not understand the originall | but because it would be unfair to compare an

originall of Cicero with a translation of Demosthenes. The occasion was when Cato and

S<ilanus>

counselled the Senate to put those unworthy and abominable cives

Death and Caesar and

counselled to spare their lives as the Senate had not, after the

Sempronian law, the power of condemning to capitall punishment, but to confine them

for life alledging this to be a more severe and heavier punishment on Courageous men.

Cicero, then Consull, was afraid to counsell Death least the odium should fall on him

alone, but yet inclined and offered to execute the commands of the Fathers to do it.

Betwixt these he wavers and his whole oration is one continued train of Tergiversation;

Which tho a most weak and pusillanimous temper and which afterwards caused him to

be banished for that very action which he was afraid to avow, yet is managed in a most

artfull, ornate and elegant manner. And | when in this case he is ornate, we may

conceive what he must be in other cases.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXV

[1 ]

The titles of the two non–Demosthenic speeches already referred to at ii.141 above

were misheard by the scribe: περ λοννήσου, On Halonnesus, and περ τν πρ ς

λέξανδρον συνθηκ ν, On the Treaty with Alexander. The first was generally

attributed to Hegesippus, an equally vigorous opponent of Philip, though Dionysius of

Halicarnassus thought Demosthenes the author: see On the Style of Demosthenes, 9

(The Critical Essays, i. LCL). Hyperides was once credited with the second; for his works

see Minor Attic Orators ii (LCL).

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[

] MS thus; changed from And thus are

[

] they were replaces it was

[

] Patricians deleted

[

] MS fertune

[

] MS greet estates, s deleted

[2 ]

The reproach of Demosthenes against Aeschines is in De Corona, 312; apart from

his own resources he had inherited more than five talents from the estate of his father–

in–law Philo, and had contributed nothing to the state’s projects.

[

] ten deleted

[

] a line above and below in MS

[

] as by the Lex Servia (?) deleted

[

] out deleted

[

] power deleted

[

] They deleted

[

] replaces one

[

] with a deleted

[

] changed from would

[

] last seventeen words vertically in margin

[

] or ta written above and deleted

[

] replaces one

[

] ways replaces the ornaments

[

] MS evoer

[

] a line above and below in MS

[

] MS litter

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[

] (WFL) deleted: i.e. wait for laugh?

[

] with <blank> and even when deleted (three–letter blank)

[

] MS familiari, final i deleted

[

] replaces mean

[

] rest of word supplied conjecturally for blank in MS; initial letter might be h

[

] blank of five letters in MS

[3 ]

In Philippic I.40 the Athenians are blamed for always, despite their great military

and material resources, fighting the previous battle, sending expeditions which arrived

too late (e.g. to Pagasae in southern Thessaly already taken by Philip).

[4 ]

Pro Lege Manilia (cf. ii.109 n.7 above), 22. Cicero refers in a different context to

Medea, her brother Absyrtus and her father Aeetes: De Natura Deorum, III.xix.48.

[

] mistaken criticism I think inserted vertically in margin

[

] for may?

[

] squeezed into blank left before and

[

] blank of five letters in MS

[5 ] In Brutus, xcv.325 ff. Cicero discusses types of ‘Asiatic’ oratory: see Introduction.

p. 16. Quintus Hortensius Hortalus (114–50 BC) was the leading forensic orator in the

70s

BC, and noted for his theatrical style; cf. ii.239 below.

[

] blank of seven letters in MS (The blanks referred to in this and the preceding note

can be supplied from Brutus, lxxxi–lxxxii. 280–4. C. Licinius Calvus 82–? 47

, leader

of the ‘Atticist’ movement in Rome, to which he gave the name; and lxxix. 273, M.

Caelius Rufus 82–48

, pupil and initially follower of Cicero, and successfully defended

by him in the Pro Caelio).

[

] these deleted

[6 ] Quintilian has comments on Caelius at IV.ii.27, 123 ff.; X.i.115; XII.x.11; XII.xi.6

(taught by Cicero); quotations from him at I.v.61; I.vi.29, 42; VI.iii.25, 39, 41;

VIII.vi.53; IX.iii.58; XI.i.51.

[

] blank of about ten letters in MS; short blank after etc.

[7 ]

The scribe has confused the pairing: Theognis (c.544 BC) the elegiac poet clearly

goes with Propertius, and Virgil as both epic and didactic poet is paired with Homer and

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Hesiod. Thus no blanks are left unfilled.

[8 ]

Cicero, In Catilinam, IV.7: Decimus Silanus pressed for the death sentence on the

conspirators, Caesar though arguing for the full rigour of the law opposed him. Cicero

makes oblique reference to Crassus (perhaps the blank after Caesar?), absent in order

to avoid the odium of voting in a capital case. The passage echoes Silanus’ argument:

‘hoc genus poenae saepe in improbos civis in hac republica esse usurpatum’, and

conduct which disqualifies a man from being worthy of citizenship.

[

] supplied conjecturally by JML for a blank beginning S

[

] word partly illegible through blotting. (Cives as the term for Glasgow students might

occur naturally to the scribe)

[

] blank of five letters in MS

LECTURE XXVII

Friday Feb. 4

1763

The Deliberative orations of Demosthenes and Cicero are the only ones of that Sort that

have come down to us either in the Greek or Latin languages. And as these are pretty

much on the same occasions and designed to bring about the same ends it would be

unfair to form a judgement of the Deliberative eloquence of those two nations from so

small and confined a specimen. It may not therefore be improper to take also into our

consideration those deliberative orations which the severall Greek and Latin Historians

have inserted in their works. We are certain it is true that these orations are not

genuine and those which were spoke on the occasions they are introduced. But at the

same time they will serve to shew what notion those writers had formed of De|liberative

Eloquence. They will also perhaps appear to be as perfect in their kinds as

those either

of Demosthenes or Cicero. The Writers had more leisure to correct and polish them than

those two great Orators had, who often spoke them on sudden and unexpected

occasions.

I shall first consider those which Thucidides has inserted in his history. I mentiond

already in treating of the Historicall writers the particular end which that author had in

view in composing his history; Which was to explain the causes which brought about the

severall important events that happened during this period. I observed also that it was

chiefly the externall causes which he calls in to this purpose. Now all his Orations are

excellently adapted to this Idea of historicall writing.

There are three things which are

principally concerned in bringing about the great events of a war (and as it is the history

of a war which he writes it is in such he is principally concerned), Viz. The Relative

Strength of the conten|ding powers at the commencement of the war; The Strength,

Fidelity and Good will of their severall allies; and the circumstances in which the

armies

on both sides were placed, and the different incidents which influenced the success of

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each particular battle. The

whole of his orations are employed in explaining some one

or other of these causes. They

are sometimes supposed to be deliverd before the

commencement of the war and are employed either to persuade the people to enter

upon the war or to dissuade them from it; or they are the orations of

Ambassadors

either asking an Alliance, or defending the condu[e]ct of their countries, or settling the

demands of the contending powers either before the war broke out or in order to bring

about an accommodation; or they are those of Generalls at the head of their armies

encouraging them to battle.

Of about 48 Orations which there are inserted in Thucidides history, there | are about

12 or 13 which are represented as the orations of those who were recommending war to

their countrymen. These evidently tend to make us acquainted with the comparative

strength, the valour, the designs and interests of the

contending parties. In these and

indeed in all his other orations he has made chief use of those arguments which in

deliberative orations are alone convincing and conclusive. The arguments as I

mentioned before which may be used to persuade one to undertake any enterprise are 3

sorts; they either shew the utility

and the honourableness of it, or 2

dly

The

Practicability, or thirdly they are such as take in both these considerations together, and

shew that the Undertaking is both usefull and Practicable to them in their present

situation. These latter are those which are conclusive and convincing as they alone are

suited to the particular occasion on which they are delivered.

There <is> also a good number of Orations of Am|bassadors, asking alliance with

particular States, etc. But the far greater part of his Orations are those of Generalls at

the head of their armies. There are 6 or 7 orations besides which do not touch upon

either of these Subjects, but then they are very well adapted to bring about the generall

end of his history. The 1

is that which I formerly mentioned of Pericles where he draws

the Characters of the Athenians and Lacedemonians. It is evident that this will tend

greatly to explain the events of the war, as nothing [nothing] gives greater light into

any train of actions than the characters of the actors. The Consultation of the Athenians

concerning the Punishment that should be inflicted by the Athenians on the

who had

broke their allian<c>e and were then reduced into subjection fournishes matter for 4

Orations, two of which reccommend the Greatest Severity and the other two a

mitigation of their punishment. The Reduction of Mytylene also affords the Subject of

two others on the head of their

punishment. The first day of the assembly Creon

advised the putting of the whole inhabitants | to the sword, which was accordingly

agred to, and a boat dispatched with the orders. But the next day Democritus, a man of

a milder and more humane temper, called them together and so changed the temper of

the Athenians that they took the whole people again into their protection and Alliance,

or more properly subjection in the same manner as they had been before.

The affair of the Megareans,

who had been attacked by the Lacedemonians as Refusing

their Commerce, has been the subject of severall of his Deliberative Orations; that

which Pericles is said to have delivered on this occasion may serve as an ensample of

his particular manner and Stile in the Deliberative orations. In this Oration, the point he

insists most upon is the practicability of succeeding in a war against the Lacedemonians.

He passes over the Utility and Reasonableness of it as he had explained that in the

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former Orations on this head. He does not however consider those in the abstract, but

has shewed the justness of the causes that influenced them | to declare war and the

great necessity of doing so, and in this he sets forth the great superiority the Athenians

had over the Lacedemonians. In this Oration as his design is to inform the Reader of the

Situation of the Athenians at that time and the motives for undertaking the war, but

chiefly of their superiority over the Lacedemonians at that time, so for the better

understanding of these he thought it proper to divide his oration into these seperate

parts; and tho he does <not> divide the discourse into a 1

, 2

and 3

part, yet the

transition from the one subject to the other is distinctly marked. As the instruction of his

Reader is what he has chiefly in view, so he has no occasion to introduce any

ornamentall and what are called oratorial expressions; far less any exageratory or

hyperbolicall ones. Plain downright strong arguments are what best suited with his

design and are accordingly what is the matterialls of all his Orations. From this it procee

[e]ds that his orations are all so much alike. | The character of the Speaker has no

influence; for as the instruction of the Reader in the causes of the chief events is what

he aims at here as well as in the other parts of his book, the arguments which are

deduced from these are what chiefly suit his design. {An old man and a young, a

passionate and a calm, talk

in the same way. The

and the

the Superstitious and

Solemn Cleon, and the loose, merry and debauched Alcibiades harangue in the same

Stile.}

The whole of the Orations therefore which are introduced in debates with regard to

peace or war before the commencement of it are of the same sort. There is no more

variety in those where the ambassadors of one state

ask the alliance of another; the

arguments here all tend to shew the advantage such an alliance would be of to the

parties and the dissadvantage of rejecting it; and in the same manner his orations for

Generalls all tend to the same end; to set forth the necessity of engaging and the

probability they had to conquer from the nature and circumstances of their situation.

{The arguments he uses are in all cases such as would have most weight with the

hearers, without considering what those were which would most naturally occurr to one

of such a particular temper and would most strongly prompt him to such or such a

scheme of conduct or particular action.} By this means tho his Orations have properly

speakin[n]g no character at all which they | display, yet they tend greatly to illustrate

the particular incidents. His Orations on peace and war have none of those Generall

expression<s> which are so common in other historians, no declamations on the Glory

of Conquering or falling in the defense of liberty nor other such like. Nor his

Ambassadorianones any of those highflown expressions generally used on such

occasions, as the Glory and Heroism of Defending the oppressed etc.—Nor those of the

generalls any one generall and commonplace expression[s] on the magnanimity of

expos[s]ing themselves to the haza<r>d either of conquering or of falling in the field

honour etc. By this means, tho the Orations on each Subject are of the same kind, yet

those regarding one debate on peace and war could not apply to any other, nor those of

one allian<c>e to the circumstances of any other in the whole Book; And tho he has

above 20 Orations of Generalls, yet none of them could be interchanged without being

easily perceivd.

| The Deliberative orations of Livy have a considerable resemblance to those of

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Thucidides and are at the same time very different. For this reason it will perhaps tend

to give us the more distinct notion of both to make a comparison betwixt their different

manners. The design of Livy seems to be much the same with that of Thucidides, to wit,

to explain the causes of the severall remarkable events whose history he relates. The

causes too which he assigns are in generall the externall ones. But tho this be his chief

plan yet he does not adhere so much by it, as not to give place to what appears to be

entertaining and amusing to his Readers. Thucidides never relates any fact but what is

some way connected with the principall events of the history, nor does he introduce any

speeches but such as tend to illustrate the causes or circumstances of some important

event or one nearly connected with them. In both of these respects he is widely

different from Livy. That author | never omitts any event which promises to be

interesting and affecting to his Readers however little connected with the chief events

he is to relate. And as he never omitts any event of this sort, so he commonly puts a

speech into the mouth of the person chiefly affected expressing his sentiments on that

head. As an instance of this we may observe the account he gives of the discord betwixt

Demetrius and Persius, the sons of Philip of Macedon the 2

of that Name.

These he

tells us came to such a pitch that the one at length told his father that his brother

intended to murder

him. The father then calls his sons before him to hear the cause,

and we have a speech of his on this occasion; not after he had heard the cause as a

judge summing up the arguments and ballancing them together; but before he had

heard the cause expressing how greatly he was affected by his situation; being the

judge betwixt his sons and obliged to discover either one guilty of an attempt of

Patricide, or one who had falsely accused his brother etc. | We have also the speeches

of the brothers, where there is indeed some attempt to record a proof, but the far

greater part is employd in expressing how greatly they were affected in being obliged to

justify themselves each by accusing his brother, etc. But Philip at last concludes that he

would not determine the cause by one hearing but examine into all the actions of their

lives and the generall tenor of their behaviour. So that Livy has here bestowed 3

speeches

on an event which tends not in the least to illustrate the principall ones, nor

had even any effect on the fate of the persons concerned.

There are two speeches, on<e> in Thucydides and the other in Livy, which are on very

similar circumstances and in many things resemble one another so much that Brissonius

affirms that Livy has copied his from Thucidides.

The occasion of that in Thucidides

was the Embassy of the Corcyrians to Athens asking their Alliance against the

Corinthians with whom the Athenians were then at war. The Reasoning here is the

strongest pos|sible: They represent how that they were under a necessity of joining

themselves to one or the other party. They were then the 2

maritime power, as

Holland; Athens the 1

, as Britain; and Corinth the 3

, as France. They represent

therefore that if the Athenians accepted of their alliance they would without doubt <be>

superior to their foes; but if they rejected it and obliged them to join with the

Corinthians they would then be equall if not superior to them; and other arguments no

less convincing. The Case of the Capuans and the speech of their ambassadors is

exactly similar to this. The Samnites were to them as the Corinthians to the people of

Corcyra. The arguments in both are so similar that it is very probable Livy borrowed

those of greatest strength from Thucidides. But besides these there are many which

tend only to shew how much the Ambassadors and the people of Capua were interested

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in it and how much they themselves were affected by it, but tend little to make it

appear reasonable to the | Romans. The arguments used thro the whole of his Orations

are such as rather shew the great affections and desires of the speaker than tend to

convince the audience; they are very strong to the speaker but not of great weight with

the hearer. As his speeches are those of persons deeply and passionately interested in

the cause they have consequently no set division, no transition distinctly marked from

one part of the subject to another. But altho they are not thus regularly divided yet the

sentences follow one another in a naturall order, each one suggestin<g> that which

follows it. Whereas in Thucidides there is no connection particularly observ’d in the

severall sentence[e]s altho the whole be distinctly divided. The one is the naturall

language of one deeply interested in the subject he spoke on, the other that of a calm

sedate man who valued nothing but strong and

solid arguments.

The Deliberative orations of Tacitus are considerably different either from those of

Thucidides or of Livy. They are however very consi|stent with that Idea of Historicall

writing which Tacitus entertaind and which we have already explained. He is at no pains

in any of them to unfold the causes of events in his orations, they are altogether

designed to interest and affect the reader. The arguments therefore which he brings into

them are such as would have been very strong with the speaker but would have no

effect with the audien<c>e. Thus in the speech which Germanicus,

makes to the

soldiers to bring them from the sedition there is not one argument which would induce

them to quit it, all that he says tends only to shew his own desire that they should leave

it, and the great effects which it had on him. We will see that Tacitus carries this to a

much greater length than Livy if we compare this speech with one in the 2

Book of

Livy,

which he puts in the mouth of Valerius Corvus addressed to the soldiers who had

revolted and obliged Tit<us> Quinctius to take the command. In this speech | the

sedi<tio>n was far from being of such consequence as that of the Legions under

Germanicus, yet there is greatly more of argument and Reasoning than in that which

Tacitus gives Germanicus.

Livy, we may observe here, tho he uses a great many arguments in his Deliberative

orations which could be of no weight with the audience, carefully avoids them in his

Judiciall ones of which he has severall. It would be altogether absurd to introduce one

defending himself barely by alledging how sorry he was to die etc. etc. etc. As Livy is a

sort of Medium betwixt Tacitus and Thucidides, so is Xenophon betwixt Thucidides and

Livy. In his Judiciall orations he introduces a great deal more of strong argument than

Livy and more convincing Reasoning; But at the same time he has a great deal more of

the affecting and interesting arguments which display the character of the speaker than

is to be met with in Livy. The Oration

which he says he delivered himself to the

soldiers | when they demanded the plunder of

may serve to shew all these particulars.

It will also serve as an instance of that

Simplicity and innocence of manners which is so

conspicuous in all his works.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXVI; date squeezed in as afterthought

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] ith deleted

[

] For deleted

[

] y were deleted

[

] fa deleted

[

] either deleted

[

] the deleted

[

] one blank line follows

[

] worst o deleted

[

] of the deleted

[

] Mytilenians supplied conjecturally by JML for a blank of eight letters in MS

beginning with part of M

[

] head deleted

[1 ] The Athenian debate on how to treat the defaulting Mytilenians becomes an

argument between Cleon (not Creon) son of Cleaenetus, who advocates putting them to

death, and Diodotus (not Democritus) son of Eucrates, who takes a humane position

(Thucydides, III.xxxvi–xlviii). It therefore resembles the Roman case referred to at

ii.170 n.8 above. On Cleon cf. ii.144 n.5. He appears as a ruthless demagogue with

crude but effective oratorical methods; but his treatment by Aristophanes in (e.g.) the

Knights is still harsher: mean, ignorant and venal. 179 below is another comment on

him.

[2 ]

Thucydides, I.cxl–cxliv; cf. ii.124 n.15 above.

[

] MS take

[

n–n

] two blanks of about ten letters each in MS

[

] are the deleted

[

] changed from bed

[3 ]

Philip V of Macedon (238–179 BC).

[

] changed from murther

[4 ]

The rivalry between Philip’s sons, the jealous elder Perseus and Demetrius whom

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he accuses before his father of being a traitor, is recorded in Livy XL.v–xv: the agonised

speech of the father called on to be judge (viii), Perseus’ charge (ix–xi), Demetrius’

answer (xii–xv).

[5 ]

The notes on Livy by the jurist Barnabé Brisson, President of the Parlement of

Paris, were collected from his juridical works (especially De Formulis) with those of

Justus Lipsius and others in the edition of Livy by the Flemish jurist François Modius

(1588 and later editions). The note on Livy VII.xxx points to borrowing from the account

of a similar incident by Thucydides. The latter (l.xxxii–xliii) professes to report the

opposing speeches of the Corcyrean and Corinthian ambassadors to the Athenians; the

Corinthians are anxious that the Athenian fleet should not join the Corcyrean. In Livy

the Campanian ambassadors address to the Roman Senate a plea that Capua may be

spared.

[

] arguments deleted

[

] illegible word deleted

[6 ] Annales, I.xlii–xliii: the moving speech of Germanicus grieving and indignant over

the treatment of his wife and young son.

[7 ]

VII.xl–xli. The scribe has misheard ‘seventh book’ as ‘second’.

[

8 ] Anabasis, VII.i.25–31: the Athenians have entered on this war with the

Lacedaemonians possessed of great military and material resources, and many cities,

including ‘this very city of Byzantium’ and its plunder (27).

[

] blank of seven letters in MS

[

] plai deleted

[

] rest of 188 blank

LECTURE XXVIII

Monday Feb.

7. 1763.

Having now said all I think necessary to observe concerning Demonstrative and

Deliberative Eloquence, I come to the 3

and last Species of Eloquence viz. the Judicial;

which is employed either in the Defense of some particular person, or the Support of

some particular right or claim as vested in some certain person, or in the contrary of

these. That is, it is either Judicial or Civil. In treating of this I shall consider, 1

What

matters may be the Subject of a Judicial oration; 2

dly

What arguments may be used in

these discourses; 3

dly

In what order they are to be placed; 4

thly

How they are to be

expressed; and 5

thly

What writers have chiefly excelled in this manner of Writing with

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some observations on the distinguishing marks and characteristicks of each.

We are to consider what may be the Subject of a Judicial Oration. This may be either

a matter of fact which is affirmed by the one party and denied by the other, | or the

Question may respect a certain point of law. This latter again divides into two. For the

question may be either whether such a point be law or not; or whether the

circumstances of the fact are such as that they bring it within the Verge of that Law. So

that all Judiciall questions may be comprehended under some or other of these three

heads: either 1

The question may be concerning the reality of a fact which is alledged

by one party and denied by the other; or 2

dly

concerning the Existence of a certain Point

of Law; or 3

dly

concerning the Extent of that law, that is, Whether the circumstances of

the fact are such as that they bring it within the Verge of the Law. These 3 heads we will

find exactly corresponding to the division given by the ancient writers on this Subject.

They said all questions were either De Re, which corresponds to the 1

of our division;

or concerning the circumstances and particularities of the fact, which they said was De

Re finita; or after the affair was fixed

| it might be disputed whether or not it was

agreable to law or not.

Thus much concerning the Subject of Judicial orations; we come now to the 2

thing

proposed viz.

what arguments may be used on these heads, in a judicial oration. We

shall consider this 1

with regard to the case where the question is concerning a matter

of fact.

Now arguments may be drawn to prove a matter of fact

in two ways, either 1

from its

causes, or 2

dly

from its effects.—Now as it is the actions of men which

commonly are to

be examined into, the causes that must be advanced for the proof of any events of this

sort are those which generally tend to bring about human actions. Now the proof of any

event from the causes that are imagined to have produced it is generally not very

satisfactory as there seldom can be causes shewn which infallibly will produce such or

such an event. But in no case is the proof of facts from the causes more uncertain than

in that of Human actions. The causes | of Human actions are motives; And so far is

Certain that no one ever acts without a motive. But then it is no Sufficient proof that

one committed any action, that he had a motive to do so. There are many things which

may occasion the conterary. If the action be not suitable to the character of the person

the motive will not influence him to commit the action it prompts him to. Besides tho

one had a motive to such or such an action and tho it was altogether suitable to his

character it is still requisite that he should have an opportunity, otherwise the action

could not have been committed. In proving therefore

an action to have happend by

proving that its causes subsisted, we must not only prove that one had a motive to

commit such an action, but also that it was one that suited his character, and that he

had an opportunity also. But even when all this is done it does by no means amount to

a proof of the action. The character of man is a thing so fluctuating that no proof which

depends on it can be altogether conclusive. | There may many circumstances interfere

which will entirely alter the designs and disposition of the person for that time, and

prevent the execution of an action even when there is a strong motive for it, the

disposition and character of the person agreable to the action and the fairest

oppo

. In

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said Haereditatem sperabat et magnam Haereditatem etc. etc., each of which

arguments taken singly have a considerable weight, but when considered in the gross,

the shewing that he had a motive, and that the action was suitable to his character,

may serve to shew that he

might possibly have had an intention to have comitted the

action; and where the motive, character and opportunity all coincide there is a proof

that the person may [have] possibly have committed it; but can not amount to a proof

that the fact was actually committed. But altho these can not make out cl<e>arly an

affirmative proof yet they will be very suffi<cient> | to prove that an action was not

committed. The want of opportunity alone is sufficient to prove that the action was not

committed. The want of a motive is also a very strong proof, but not so conclusive as

the other, since sometimes men act altogether unreasonably and without any strong

motive. The actions being conterary to the character of the person is a great proof of

the conterary, but neither is it altogether certain as there are many occasions on which

one will deviate from the ordinary tenor of his conduct. Cicero in his defense of Roscius

endeavours to shew that he had no motive to kill his father, that it was altogether

unsuitable to his character etc . . .

It is this sort of arguments which the Rhetoricians

chiefly insist upon and are at greatest pains to divide and subdivide. Thus with regard to

the motive they say we do an action either to increase, or procure, or preserve

something good, or to diminish, divide, shun, or get free from something evill etc. They

insist in the same manner on the character | and consider the Age, the Sex, the Family

etc. and even the very name of the person. In the same manner they divide the

consideration of the Opportunity into that of

Time and place, and so <on>. This may

serve to account why the later Orators have insisted almost solely on this sort of

arguments, as they alone are fully treated of by the Rhetoricians, on whose directions

they seem to have moddelled their orations. This may suffice concerning those

arguments which are used to prove a fact from its causes. {Even Cicero himself insists

greatly on these arguments, and seems sometimes to strain them rather too far as in

the Case of Milo, in which he would shew that he had no reason to kill Clodius, tho this

man was continually seeking his life.}

The proof of an event from its effects is sometimes altogether Certain. Thus if one has

been seen committing the fact and the witnesses testify it there is no other proof

necessary. But there are many cases where the effects either of the action

itself or of

the intention to do it are not altogether conclusive at first sight, tho they may be very

strong presumptions. Thus in the old cause

which is commonly quoted the man who

had been seen some days before | the murder of a certain person walking about very

pensive and melancholy as if he was meditating some horrid or dreadfull action, and

was amissing all that night that the murder was committed and could give no account of

himself, might very probably be presumed from these effects of the intention of killing

one to have had some hand in it but could not be absolutely concluded to have been

guilty of it. But when these effects of the intention are joined with those of the action

itself the proof is still stronger, as in the case where one who bore an other an ill will

was found near his dead body, with his hands bloody, and a great appearance of terror

he would appear to be very probably the murderer; Especially if the arguments from the

cause of the action are joind with them. But tho these arguments give a great

probability of the commission of the action by the person in whom they are found, yet

the want of them does by no means prove the Innocence of the person. | If one should

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be found whose hands were altogether clean of blood and no appearance of concern

after the murther nor anxiety before it, we could not conclude from this that he was

innocent. For there are some people such consummate Dissemblers that the<y> can go

about the most horrid actions without the least emotion or anxiety either before or after

the perpetration.

The Rhetoricians divide all these topicks into many orders and Classes (these will be

found in Quinctilian

by those who incline to read them; for my part Ill be at no farther

trouble about them at present.)

{It is in the proper ordering and disposal of this sort of arguments that the great art of

an orator often consists. These when placed seperately have often no great impression,

but if they be placed in a naturall order on<e> leading to the other their effect is greatly

increased. The best method to answer this is to throw them into a sort of a narration,

filling up in the manner most suitable to the design of the Speaker what intervalls there

may otherwise be. By this means tho he can bring proof but of very few particulars, yet

the connection there is makes them easily comprehended and consequently agreable,

so that when the adversary tries to contradict any of these particulars it is pulling down

a fabric with which we are greatly pleased and are very unwilling to give up — —}

We shall now make some observations concerning the topicks or foundations of

arguments that may be brought to prove anything to be Law or not.—Now when the

Law is plainly expressed in the statute there can be no question on this head

. The only

two methods in which any thing can be shewn to be law, are either to shew how | it

follows from some Statute {by abstract Reasoning} or how it has been supported as

Law by former practise and similar adjudged causes or precedents. This last which is so

much in use amongst modern Lawyers was not at all used by the antients either Greeks

or Romans. The Rhetoricians amongst all their topicks make not the least mention of

Precedents. They have inde<e>d one order of Topicks which they title de similibus {et

dissimilibus}

In this they mention all the different sorts of Similitude except that of

precedents. They are such as the persons having done the like actions before, or other

persons in similar circumstances etc., which are evidently altogether different from

praecedents (or praecēdents). As therefore there is such a remarkable difference

betwixt the modern and the ancient practise in this respect it may not be improper to

make a digression in order to explain it.

In the early periods the same persons generally exercise the duties of Judge, | Generall

and Legislator, at least the two former are very commonly conjoined. The first thing

which makes men submit themselves to the authority of others

is the difficulty they

feel in accomodating their matters either by their own judgement or by that of their

opponents, and find

it most adviseable to submit it to some impartiall person. By this

means some persons of eminent worth came to be settled as judges and Umpires. When

men especially in a Barbarous State are accustomed to submit themselves in some

points they naturally do it in others. The same persons therefore who judged them in

peace lead them also to battle. In this twofold capacity of Judge and Generall the 1

Kings and Consulse of Rome and other magistrates would reckon the Judiciall part of

their office a Burthen rather than that by which they were to obtain honour and Glory,

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that was only to be got by military exploits. They therefore were very bold in passing

sentence. They would pay very little regard to the conduct of their predecessors as this

was the least | important part of their office. This part was therefore for their ease

seperated from the other and given to another set of magistrates. These as the Judicial

was their only office would be at much greater pains to gain honour and Reputation by

it. {Having less power they would be more timid}

They would be at pains even to

strengthen their conduct by the authority of their predecessors

. When therefore there

were a few Judges appointed these would be at great pains to vindicate and support

their conduct by all possible means. Whatever therefore had been practised by other

judges would obtain authority with them and be received in time as Law. This is the

case in England. The Sentences of former Cases are

greatly regarded and form what is

called the common law, which is found to be much more equitable than that which is

founded on Statute only, for the same reason as what is founded on practise and

experience must be better adapted to particular cases than that which is derived from

theory only.

These judges when few in number will be much more | anxious to proceed according to

equity than where there is a great number; the blame there is not so easily laid upon

any particular person, they are in very little fear of censure and are out of danger of

suffering much by wrong procee[e]dings; {besides that a great number of Judges

naturally confirm each others prejudices and enflame each others Passions}

We see

accordingly that the Sentences of the Judges in England are greatly more equitable than

those of the Parliament of Paris or other Courts which are secured from censure by their

number. The House of Commons when they acted in a Judicial Capacity have not always

proceeded with the greatest wisdom; altho their proceedings are kept upon record as

well as those of the other Courts, and without doubt in imitation of them. {In censuring

any of their own members or in any other such case they have not distinguished

themselves by their Justice.}

The House of Lords have indeed proceeded in a very

equitable manner but this is not to be attributed to their number but rather to—.

The case was the same with regard to the Areopagus and the Councill

of the 500 | at

Athens; there number was too great to restrict them from arbitrary and summary

proceedings. They would here pay as little regard to the proceedings of former Judges

as those did who at the same time possessd the Office of Generall allong with that of

Judge. The Praetor at Rome indeed often borrowed from the de<c>rees, but then

Nothing could be quoted as Law to him but what was found in his edict, which was put

up at the beginning of each year and in which he declared in what manner he was to

regulate his conduct. (This was the custom till the time of the Edictum perpetuum.)

would have taken it as a great affront to his judgement to have been told that such an

one before had done so or so. And no part of the former edicts could be quoted but

what was transcribd into his, and in his name it was always to be quoted. There was

therefore no room for præcedents in any Judiciall pleadings amongst | the Greeks or

Romans; tho no<t>hing can be more common than it is now. And it may be looked on

as one of the most

happy parts of the British Constitution tho introduced merely by

chance and to ease the men in power that this Office of Judging causes is committed

into the hands of a few persons whose sole employment it is to determine them.

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{This Separation of the province of distributing Justice between man and man from that

of conducting publick affairs and leading Armies is the great advantage which modern

times have over antient, and the foundation of that greater Security which we now

enjoy both with regard to Liberty, property and Life. It was introduced only by chance

and to ease the Supreme Magistrate of this the most Laborious and least Glorious part

of his Power, and has never taken place untill the increase of Refinement and the

Growth of Society have multiplied

business immensely}

It is evident that in quoting præcedents the more dire<c>tly they agree with the case in

hand in all its circumstances it will be so much the better. For where it differs in many

or in any [ony] important parts it will require a good deal of abstract Reasoning to shew

the Similitude and bring them to the same case.

The other way to prove any thing to be Law is to shew that it follows from some statute

Law by abstract Reasoning. The other is always to be preferred to this where it can be

made use of, as the abstract | reasoning renders it less easily comprehended

. To shew

that any thing is or is not comprehended within any point of Law there are 2 methods.

We may either shew, first, that the Law could not have its desired effect unless it was

extended thus far, or 2

dly

that the Law by the manner in which it is expressed must

comprehend it.—The 1

method is but very seldom applicable and in most cases not

conclusive as the precise intention of the Law is not always evident[s], and besides it

requires a great deal of abstract Reasoning. In the other manner we must (to shew the

meaning of the Law) give a Definition of the meaning of the severall parts and shew the

extent of each. (We all know how the

Rhetores made their definitions by Genus,

Species and differentia.) This is very difficult in all things of a | very generall nature and

can not be applied on many occasions. The best way of defining generally is

enumerate the severall qualities of the thing to be defined. But in this case it is most

adviseable not to go about to define ever<y> part of the law and shew the whole extent

of it but to shew by some part of it which we are to explain clearly that the thing in

question is comprehended by it; and leave the rest to others, as I do the Rhetoricall

divisions of these heads.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXVII

[

] some . . . deleted

[

] by deleted

[

] numbers written above change original order a matter . . . be proved

[

] are deleted

[

] a thing deleted

[1 ]

Apparently a reference to the intricate and sensational story behind Cicero’s Pro

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Auto Cluentio, in which a Roman Blue–Beard named Statius Abbius Oppianicus had been

condemned for murder. In this case, the victim may be Dinaca his first mother–in–law:

Cluentia, aunt of Cicero’s client; or one of several others. See vii–xvii (19–48) of the

oration. But the Latin phrase does not occur in it, though the motive is recurrent. See

ii.210–11 below.

[

] three blanks in MS of seven letters each

[

] probabl deleted

[2 ]

Pro Roscio Amerino: young Cicero’s first major case, 80BC.—Smith is specially fond

of the Pro Milone (cf. ii.209 ff., 215), since this virtuoso defence illustrates so many

aspects of Cicero’s skill at the bar— though it was never delivered. Titus Annius Milo was

a political gangster and opportunist, and the killing of Clodius by his associates on the

Via Appia called for a display of special pleading, and all the barrister’s techniques of

suggestion, with a masterly manipulation of ‘proof, paradox, pathos’. Quintilian drew

some sixty–four of his illustrations from this speech.

[

] o in MS

[

] blank of four letters in MS

[

] to deleted

[3 ] Not identified.

[

] changed from horror

[4 ] At V.x.55 Quintilian describes ‘definition’, finitio, in terms of genus, species,

differens, and proprium; cf. ii.204 below. Quintilian devotes V.x.73 and V.xi to proof by

similia of various orders; see also on these topics V.x.25 ff., VII.i.1 and 23 ff.; VIII.xxx

ff.; IX.ii.105. He refers to Cicero, De Inventione, I.xxx ff. On Smith’s indifference cf.

ii.205 below.

[

] of I.W. inserted at end of parenthesis. One blank line follows with x as key for the

interpolation opposite

[

] Those that are either not justly deleted

[

] Hand B

[5 ] Cf. the tenor of this passage with Rousseau, Discours de l’inégalité, which much

occupied Smith’s mind at this period; see EPS 250 ff. and Languages, §2, n.3 below;

and LJ on judges and judicial power.

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] Hand B

[

] By deleted

[

] abo deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] Hand B

[

] one and a half blank lines follow

[6 ]

See ii.142 n.3 above.

[7 ]

The consolidation c. AD 130 of the praetorian edicta into a permanent corpus of law

by P. Salvius Julianus Aemilianus (L. Octavius Cornelius), 100–c.169, on the order of

Hadrian. Salvius Julianus was the most creative of Roman jurists, and his work was

freely incorporated in Justinian’s Digesta (

AD 533).

[

] replaces Great

[

] cra deleted

[

] Hand B

[

] This however when necessary may be done in deleted

[

] MS they; y deleted and Rhetores written above

[

] numbers written above reverse original is generally

LECTURE XXIX

Febry. 14

Monday

In the last lecture I gave ye an account of the severall things which may be the Subject

of a Judiciall oration and also of the severall topicks from which arguments for the proof

of those severall questions

may be drawn. The next thing which writers on this Subject

generally treat of is the method of a Judiciall oration.

They tell us that every regular oration should consist of 5 parts.

There are it is true

two chief parts, the Laying down | the proposition and the Proof. But in the Connecting

these two properly together and [and] setting them out in the

brightest light, the

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Oration they say naturally divides itself into 5 parts. The 1

of these is the Exordium, in

which the orator [explains] briefly explains the purpose of his discourse and what he

intends

to accuse the adversary of, or to acquit his Client of. 2

Part is, according to

them, the Narration. The orator in this Relates not only those facts which he is

afterwards to prove but puts the whole Story into a connected narration, supplying

those parts of himself, in the manner mos<t> suitable <to his> design, which he can

not prove. The reason they give for this is that the severall parts being thus connected

gain a considerable strength by the appearance of probability and connection so that it

is difficult afterwards to wrest our belief from them. And by this means tho we can

prove but a very small part of the facts yet those which we have proved give the others

by the close connection they have with

them a great appearance of | truth and the

whole Story has the appearance, at least, of considerable probability. In the practise of

the modern courts of Judicature the Narration is never introduced; The pleader barely

relates the things he is to prove, without giving us a detail of the whole transaction; and

it is only where there is very little attention and great ignorance that this can have much

weight. The Innatention and confusion which prevailed in the ancient courts is such as

we have no conception of, and the ignorance and folly of the Judges as great as can well

be imagined. By this means a well told story would have a great influence upon them.

The Courts were then in very little better order than the mob in the pit of an ill

regulated play house and easily turned to either side. We see in one of Demosthenes

orations

viz. that upon

when his adversary Æschines had accused him of calling him

the friend of Philip and Alexander, he said he did no such thing, he called him, indeed,

the Slave of Philip who had been bribed by his gold, but | had never given him the name

of his friend. And this, he says, was the name he undoubtedly best deserved. We shall

appeal, says he, to these Judges, What think ye my Countrymen: Is this man to be

called the friend or the Slave of Philip? The judges we find called out, The Slave, The

Slave; for he goes on, ‘ye see what is their opinion.’ Some pe<r>sons which he had

place[e]d among them and hired or encouraged to that purpose, called out as he

wanted them and the rest seconded them without hesitation. The orators then managed

the courts of Judicature in the same manner as these Managers of a play house do the

Pit. They place some of their friends in different parts of the pit and as they Clap or hiss

the performers the rest join them; And so the orators then got some persons who began

the Cry which the rest for the most part accompanied. This was the case at Athens. The

Courts at Rome were much more Regular and in better order and to this in a great

measure we may attribute the stability of their Commonwealth. The | Athenian State did

not continue in its Glory for above 70 years; viz. from the Battle of Platea from which

we may date the commencement of the democracy till the Taking

of the City and the

Settling of the Tyrants under Lysander.

The Roman State again continued in its

grandeur for above 500 years

viz. from the Expulsion of the Tarquins till the Ruin of

the Republick under Julius Caesar.

But even in these Courts the Orators made a very great use of those narrations, and in

cases where the facts they could prove were but very few and often little tending to the

main point. Thus in the Oration for Milo

Cicero gives us a very particular and minute

detail of the whole transaction, how they met, fought, etc. etc. He would have us to

believe that not Milo but Clodius had lain in wait for his adversary, tho it

was well

known at Rome at time that their meeting was intirely accidentall. He proves indeed

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pretty plainly that Milo

had not lain in | wait for Clodius, as he staid in the Senate till

the ordinary time, that he went home, changed his shoes and put of his cloak etc., but

he proves no more; the rest

depends intirely on its connection with these

circumstances.—In the same manner in his oration for Cluentius, which I believe is

the

finest as well as it is the longest of all his orations, he endeavours to prove that it was

not Cluentius but his accuser

<Oppianicus> who had bribed the Judges. He does not

pretend to deny that they had been bribed, as there had been severall[s] banished on

that account by a court in which severall[s] of the judges then sitting had been present,

but he gives the bribery to a different person. Cluentius had been acquitted and

<Oppianicus> condemned; the most probable account of the Bribery in this case was

that they had been bribed by the person acquitted. But he endeavours to prove in a

very pretty manner that the Bribe had been given by the other. The only fact he proves

in support of | this is that <Oppianicus> had given one <Staienus>

640000

Sesterii,

perhaps for a very different cause than the Bribing of the Judges. This he says must

have certainly been to bribe the Judges as it made 40000 to each of them, else what

would have been the design of the odd 40000. The whole story is told in a very pleasant

and entertaining manner and had such an effect on the Judges that Cluentius was

acquitted, in all appearance conterary to Justice. And we[e] see that Cicero glories more

on this occasion of his Address in

fooling the Judges than on any other. {We may

observe also with regard to this Oration that Cicero gains the favour of his Judges in the

Exordium or Preface to his Client and prejudices them against his opponent, by telling

before them the great and uncontrovertible crimes he had been guilty of.}

The Regularity and order of the Procedure of the Courts, however, made the lives and

property of the subjects pretty safe in most cases, whereas at Athens

the disorder (as

we said) was such that it was just heads or tails whether the sentence was given for or

against one

. We see from the accounts we have of the Condemnation of Socrates

that

it was not any crime he was convicted of, for all the Judges inclined to acquit him, but

his | behaving

somewhat haughtily and not making the acknowledgements he

required, which brought him under a Capitall punishment. This Uncertainty and

Variableness of the Courts at Athens

was so great that none allmost cared to stand

their trial. When Alcibiades

had performed the most Gallant exploits at Syracuse and

heard that he was accused at home of impiety he would not stand his trial, but fled to

Lacedemon (which was in effect the cause of the Ruin of that State). When they asked

why he would not trust his life in the hands of his countrymen he told them that he

would trust them with any thing but that, and with it he would not trust his own mother,

least she should put in the black bean instead of the white one. This however is not now

in use as the Courts of Judicature are brought into a different form; So that I shall not

insist on the proper manner of executing it.

| The other 3 parts are the Confirmation

the Refutation and the Perroration. The

Confirmation consists in the proving of all or certain of the facts alledged, and this is

done by going thro the Arguments drawn from the severall Topicks I mention’d in the

last Lecture; and the Refutation or the Confuting of the adversaries arguments is to be

gone thro in the same manner. The later

Orators adhered most strictly to the Rules laid

down by the Rhetoricians. We see that even Cicero himself was scrupulously exact in

this point, so that in many indeed most of his Orations he goes thro all of these topicks.

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It would probably have been rekoned a defect to have ommitted any one, and not to

have lead an argument from the topic de Causa, Effectu, Tempore etc. This may serve

to shew us the low state of philosophy at that time. Whatever branch of Philosophy had

been most Cultivated and has made the greatest progress will necessarily be most

agreable | in the prosecution. This therefore will be the fashionable science and a

knowledge in it will give a man the Character of a Deep philosopher and a man of great

knowled<ge>. If Naturall Phil<osophy> or Ethicks or Rhetor<ick> be the most perfect

Science at that time then it will be the fashionable one. Rhetorick and Logic or Dialectick

were those undoubtedly which had made the greatest progress amongst the Ancients,

and indeed if we except a little of moralls were the only ones which had been tollerably

cultivated. These therefore were the fashionable sciences and every fashionable man

would be desirous of being thought well skilled in them. Cicero therefore attempted and

has succeeded in the attempt to display in all his writings a compleat knowledge of

these Sciences. He adheres however so strictly to these Rules that had it not been

looked on as mark of ignorance not to be acquainted with every particular, nothing else

could have induced him to it. In his Oration in defence of Milo | he has arguments drawn

from all the 3 topicks with regard to the Cause: That is that he had no motive to kill

Clodius, that it was unsuitable to his character, and that he had no opportunity. These

one would have thought could not take place in this case, and yet he goes thro them all.

He endeavours to shew that he had no motive, tho they had been squabling and fighting

every day and <he> had even declared his intention to kill him; That it was unsuitable

to his character altho he had killed 20 men before; and that he had no opportunity altho

we know he did kill him.

Altho however a science that is come to a considerable perfection be generally the

fashionable one yet it takes some time to establish it in that character. Antiquity is

necessary to give any thing a very high reputation as a matter of Deep knowledge. One

who reads a number of modern books altho they be very excellent will not get thereby

the Character of a Learned man; The acquaintance of the ancients will alone procure

him that name. We see accordingly that tho Cicero when Dialectick | and Rhetorick were

come to be sciences of considerable standing is at great pains to display his knowledge

in all their Rules, Demosthenes, who lived at a time when they had no long standing in

Greece, has no such affectation but proceeds in the way which seemed most suitable to

his subject.

The Perroration contains a short summary

of the whole arguments advanced in the

preceding part of the discourse, placed in such a way as naturally to lead to the

conclusion proposed. To this the Roman Orators generally add some arguments which

might move the Judge to decide in one way rather than in another; By either shewing

the enormity of the crime if the person accused be his opponen[en]t, and setting it out

in the most shocking manner; or if he is a defendant by mitigating the action and

shewing the severity of the punishment etc. This latter the Greeks never admitted of;

the other is the naturall conclusion of every discourse.

We have a great number of Greek orations still remaining. We have severall[s] of |

Lysias,

a good number of Isaeus, some of Antiphon, one of

Lycurgus, of

and also

severall[s] of Æschines, besides about 45 of Demosthenes. We need not take examples

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of the peculiar manner of each of these, as they are now but obscurely understood, at

least the more ancient ones.

The Judiciall orations of the Greeks may be considered as of two sorts: 1

those which

they called Publick, and 2

dly

the private ones. In the causes which regarded only the

private affairs of an individuall it was not allowed for any one to plead the cause but the

party concerned. The Patrons and Clients of Rome were never established in Greece in

any shape. The only cases wherein any one but the person concerned was allowed to

plead was where the party could not thro sickness or other incapacity appear at the

Judgement of the Cause and when he who undertook it was a near relation of the |

persons whose cause he plead; bothe these circumstances were necessary. The orator

in this case therefore did not pronounce the oration himself, but composed one to be

delivered by the party concern’d and adapted to his character and station. In the Publick

ones in which the community was someway concerned the Orator spoke in his own

person. I shall give you examples of both of these manners from Isaeus

and

Demosthenes, betwixt whom and Cicero I shall make a comparison.

Lysias is the most ancient of all the Orators whose works have come to our hands. He

wrote

private Orations to be delivered by the persons concerned; and in these he

studied to adapt them to the Character of a simple good natured man not at all versed

in the Subtility and Chicane of the Law. Isaeus <was> the Disciple of Lysias and the

master of Demosthenes. He seems to have had neither the Fire of the latter nor the

Simplicity of the former

. The character he studied in his orations which were on private

| causes as well as those of Lysias, was that of a plain sensible honest man,

and to

this his orations are very well adapted. He is said however to have resembled Lysias so

much that many could not distinguish betwixt the stile of the one and the other.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus has however shewn us severall differences,

and by what

we can now judge of their Stile and Language it seems to have been still greater than

he makes it. The Exordium of their orations is much the same. They in it barely give us

an account of the thing they are to prove, without any incentive arguments to either

side; But their narrations are very different. There is so far alike in both that they do not

wrest or torture any matter of fact to make it suit their purpose but deliver it as it realy

happened. But as Lysias studied the Character of a Simple man, so his narration is

altogether suitable to that Character. He introduces it barely by telling the Judges that

they would understand it better on hearing the whole story. In the course of the

narration he observes no order but delivers | the severall facts in the same order as

they occurred and seems to tell the story as much to refresh his own memory as to

inform his Judges; And for the same reason he relates not only those which are

necessary to the cause but those which are noway connected with it. And as they are

delivered in this dissorderly method, so it would be unnaturall for him to Recapitulate

them, and therefore in the Conclusion he only draws an inference from the whole.

Isaeus on the other hand in the Character of a plain and sensible man, appears to have

considered and weighed maturely his subject before he ventures to speak on it, and for

this reason they are all classed in proper order and are excellently adapted to the

Subject he has in hand. He introduces his narration not only by telling

that

they will

understand the cause the better if they hea<r>d the story, but specifies the particular

points he intends it should illustrate, and introduces such facts only as tend to this end.

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And as they are delivered in this orderly manner, so he summs them up exactly

and in

order at the end. We may take as an example of his method his oration concerning the

succession of Appollodorus.

N.B. Regard to Dead and keeping up house. Pub. Off.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXVIII

[

] replaces subjects

[1 ]

See ii.213 below.

[

] most deleted

[

] either deleted

[

] those that inserted above, then deleted

[2 ] The scorn expressed by Demosthenes (De Corona 51–2) for anyone who calls him

a friend of Philip shows the blank (note g above) to represent ‘the Crown’.

[

] last four words replace Diogenes Phillipoppicks;

[

] blank of eight letters in MS (cf. note 2)

[

] replaces Conquest

[3 ] 497 BC; cf. ii.143 n.4 above. The Spartan general Lysander supported the setting

up of the Thirty Tyrants after the surrender of Athens in spring 404 BC (cf. ii.144 n.5

above); i.e. seventy–five years later.

[4 ]

510–44 BC (the assassination of Caesar): i.e. 466 years.

[5 ]

Cf. ii.194 n.2 above, and 215 below.

[

] replaces the conterary

[

] replaces Clodius

[

] must deleted

[

] one of deleted

[

m–m

] proper names in angled brackets supplied for four blanks in MS

[6 ]

Cf. ii.193 n.1 above. The failure of the notetaker to catch the often repeated name

of the notorious villain in this extraordinary case (Oppianicus) can be explained only by

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his bewilderment over the familial, testamentary, and judicial complexities of the

melodrama—if Smith attempted to unravel them. The forensic skill of the orator is

matched only by the virtuosity he attributes to the poisoner. (For Staienus see xxiv.65

ff.). No wonder this speech was used even more often than the Pro Milone by Quintilian,

and that so many writers quote Quintilian’s report of Cicero’s boast of his fooling of the

judges in the cause: ‘se tenebras offudisse iudicibus in causa Cluentii gloriatus

est’ (II.xvii.21).

[

] the deleted

[

] replaces in Greece

[

] From this it followed deleted

[7 ] For the accusation of Socrates by Anytus and his two instruments Lycon (an

orator) and Meletus (a poet), see the two Apologies by Plato (an eye–witness at the

trial) and Xenophon. Plato’s Euthyphro, Crito and Phaedo present Socrates at and after

the time of his trial. Xenophon cites the evidence of Hermogenes, the intimate friend of

Socrates.

[

] with deleted

[

] made deleted

[8 ] Plutarch, Apophthegmata of Kings and Commanders, in Moralia, 186E 6.

[

] and deleted

[

] Rhet deleted

[

] the fashion nothing could have e ? deleted

[

] replaces state

[9 ]

Of the ten Attic orators recognised as the ‘canon’ some time before Dionysius of

Halicarnassus (including Lycurgus, whom he names in On Imitation, IX.v.3), Isocrates

has already been dealt with at ii.121–2 above. This leaves Hyperides, Dinarchus and

Andocides unaccounted for. Since Dionysius wrote a short treatise on Dinarchus (though

he considered Hyperides a much better orator) he may have been in Smith’s mind here;

but Quintilian omits him from his roll–call of orators at XII.x.12–26.—It is useful to

distinguish a first generation (5th to early fourth century

BC), Antiphon, Andocides,

Lysias, Isaeus, Isocrates; and a second (latter fourth century). Aeschines,

Demosthenes, Lycurgus, Hyperides, Dinarchus ‘the last of the ten’; with the minor

orator Demades.

Of the sixty–one extant speeches once attributed to Demosthenes, the eighteenth–

century critics accepted forty–five as genuine; later scholarship has reduced the number

to under thirty.

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[

] MS of one

[

] blank of about nine letters in MS

[

] De deleted, then a blank of five letters in MS (the following paragraph supplies

Lysias to fill the surprising gap. See note 10 below)

[10 ]

Four days before this lecture Smith referred (LJ iii.64, 10 Feb. 1763) to the

oration of Lysias Against Diogeiton, ‘which I will perhaps read in the other lecture’.

There is no sign here that he did so; the notetaker’s initial failure to catch the orator’s

name makes it seem unlikely. At LJ iv.78 (28 Feb. 1763) he praises the way in which in

his Funeral Oration Lysias uses the Athenians’ conduct at the time of the victory at

Megara as an example to his hearers.

[

] as deleted

[

] MS latter (see below, ii. 219–221)

[11 ] See i.85 n.5 above, and ii.235–6 below.

[12 ]

The treatises by Dionysius of Halicarnassus on Isaeus and Lysias as well as the

short prologue on The Ancient Orators are in his Critical Essays i (LCL) and in his

Opuscules rhétoriques i (ed. G. Aujac, Budé series, 1978).

[

] in deleted

[

] he deleted

[

] exactly, deleted, then rewritten above

[13 ]

On the Estate of Apollodorus (no 7 in LCL edn): on the unjust treatment of a

nephew’s inheritance by his sole surviving uncle, Eupolis, and the claim now made for

the estate of the deceased nephew by Thrasyllus (his half–sister’s son) whom he was in

the process of adopting at the time of his death. ‘Pub. Off.’ refers to Thrasyllus having

been inscribed in the public official register as the adopted son of Apollodorus. Of the

twelve surviving speeches of Isaeus all but one concern inheritances.

[

] last sentence squeezed minutely into remaining space at end of quire 105

LECTURE. XXX

Friday

Febry. 18

1763

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In the last Lecture I mentioned to you that all the orations of the Greeks may be

considered as of two sorts, viz. either the publick or the private ones; The first

tho

composed by orators who made that their profession were nevertheless spoke by the

persons themselves and of consequence were adapted to the character of those

persons. They

are therefore generally adapted to the Character of a Plain or Simple

country man who was not in the least acquainted with the

niceties of the law. Of this

sort I gave you an example from Isaeus. The character he endeavours to maintain is

that of a plain sensible man. Lysias again endeavours to appear in the character of a

man of the greatest simplicity such as we might expect in a countryman not acquainted

with the more refined manners. The Private orations of Demosthenes very much

resemble those of Isaeus, as to the character kept up in them. He has not however the

orderly arrangement of Isaeus, in the severall parts of his oration, but has in that point

more of the manner of Lysias. And if you can conceive the Plainness and Sense

| joined

with the Simplicity and Elegance of Isaeus you will have a compleat notion of the private

Judic[c]iall

orations of Demosthenes.

Of Public Orations we have no such great number. There is one of Lycurgus, and 3 of

Æschines

and of all those of Demosthenes

that remain there are but three or four

which appear to have been spoken by himself; if we except the Philippicks which are

more properly Deliberative orations. Of these orations there are two in which

Demosthenes and Æschines

accuse each other, as well as those wherein they make

their defense.

Those are περι στε ανου and περι παραπρεσβειας, which are two of the

most perfect and noblest of any of the Greek orations. That particularly of Demosthenes

is the most instructive and most elegant of any wrote by him. In it he accuses Æschines

by name of great misconduct in the Embassy he had been sent upon. In that περι στε

ανου Æschines directs his accusation against one Ctespihon

who had proposed that a

Crown should be decreed to Demosthenes; but as the design of it is to prove that |

Demosthenes was unworthy of it, the greatest part of the Oration is taken up with him.

Neither of these orations produced what they were intended for. But that of Æschines

was still less successfull than that of Demosthenes. It was a maxim at Athens that if one

had not the 5th part of his judges on his side, who were very ignorant and generally

easily influenced, he was to be accounted guilty of Calumny and suffer the Punishment

the person accused would if he had been found guilty. Demosthenes tho he seems to

have accused Æschines unjustly had nevertheless  of the Judges, which Æschines had

not and was accordingly banished.

The manner of these two orators is considerably different. Æschines has a certain gaiety

and livelyness thro all his works which we do not find in the other; who tho’ he has a

great deal more of Splendor than the former orators has not near so much as Æschines

and still less than Cicero. That disposition for mirth often takes away from the force of

his orations in other points, and indeed is not at all fitted for raising any of those

passions which are chiefly to be excited by oratory, viz. Compassion | and indignation.

This we see

is the case in many passages which were proper to have been described in

the serious manner, in which he frequently introduces touches of humour which entirely

prevent all that effect and prevent either indignation or compassion from being excited

as nothing can be more conterary to those passions: But though

they do not at all suit

with grave parts, are admirably adapted to a genteel and easy railing which appears to

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have been his peculiar excellence. His humour is always agreable and polite and such as

we can attend to with great pleasure; Whereas Demosthenes whenever

he attemp<t>s

to Rally runs into downright Scurrility and abuse, and abuse such as we could never

attend to with patience, as nothing can be more dissagreable than this Coarse sort of

Railery, were it not that the earnestness and sincerety of the orator is hereby displayed.

As Gaiety and Levity appear in Æschines works so does a certain austere Severity and

Rigidity in those of Demosthenes; as it is very well adapted to feel and excite the more

violent passions, | so it indisposes him to humour and Ridicule, and we see accordingly

that where the best opportunities offered of Rallying his adversary he

hardly ever

makes advantage of them; tho Æschines never fails to turn them to the best account.

This last mentioned orator is so agreable in this gay and entertaining temper that even

those parts which are in most cases the driest and dullest of any, as the division of the

Subject of his Oration, are made as entertaining as we can well conceive anything of

that sort will admit of. Thus in the division of that part of his Oration where he intends

to shew the misconduct of Demosthenes in his generall conduct,

he tells the Judges

that Demosthenes said his life might be divided into four periods from one time to

another and so on;

And that when he came to this part of his Oration Demosthenes

was to ask him in which of these he was to accuse him of bad conduct, and that if he

did not answer him he was to drag him to the forum and compell to determine which it

was or else to give up his accusation. When he does this, says he, I will tell him that it is

| not against any of these particularly that my accusation is directed, but that I accuse

him in them all together and in them all equally. This manner tho rather somewhat pert,

is at the same time very entertaining and would probably fix the division he was to

follow in the minds of the Judges.

But tho Demosthenes may be inferior perhaps to his Rivall in some of these more triviall

points he has greatly the advantage over him in the more important and weighty parts

of his orations. The severe and passionate temper which appears in his works is

admirably adapted to the graver and serious parts which alone are capable of raising

the passions of Compassion and Indignation, of which the latter particularly all his

Orations tend

greatly to excite. His Judiciall Orations in most points indeed resemble

his Deliberative ones, excepting that we find in the [the] latter more eloquence and

passion than

is the case which all other authors. For as the Subject of Deliberative

orations is politicks or something nearly allied to it, the object of this must be the

concerns of a whole people; at a debate concerning | peace or war etc. which tho very

important will never affect the passions so highly as the distress of a single person or

Indignation against the Crimes of an individuall. When Æschines

enters upon these

subjects he often misses the effect by the interruption of some stroke of Raillery, as that

where he represents Demosthenes hopping into the market place thro grief that he had

receivd none of the money which was distributed amongst the Thebans. And when he

sets himself purposely to affect the passions in a high degree he generally runs into

bombast. As we see in the Exclamation

etc. {and severall other passages.} Those

actors who enter least into their parts are observed to use more grimace and

Gesticulation than those who are greatly affected by what they act; for whatever is

affected is found always to be overdone. This is the case with Æschines, his temper was

not adapted to gravity, or to be any ways greatly affected by those things which would

stir up the [the] passions of more earnest men, so that whenever he attempts any thing

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of this sort he always outdoes. In all such more interesting events, Æschines has

generally little more than Commonplace remarks, and such incidents as happen on

every | such like occasion. Thus in the Description he gives of the taking of Thebes,

on<e> of the most important events that happened about that time, he dwells greatly

on the carrying the old men into Captivity, the Rape of the Virgins and matrons, and

other such like which happen on the taking of every City; whereas Demosthenes in

describing the taking of Elatea and the confusion this occasiond all Athens, tho the

event was of much less moment and the danger which threatend Athens was still at a

distance; yet I say he points out the severall circumstances of the confusion, the

croud

which gathered at the Forum, how everyone looked on the others in expectation that

they had discovered some expedient which had escaped him etc. etc. in such an

interesting manner and with circumstances so peculiar to the event that it is highly

interesting and striking etc.

However as no one is altogether perfect, it is greatly to be suspected that Demosthenes

has not divided

his Orations in the most happy order; a talent which Æschines

and

Cicero have possessed in a very high degree. There is in all his orations a confusion in

the order of the Arguments and the different parts it consists of, which will appear | to

anyone on the slightest attention. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, a Critick of great

penetration but whose observations appear sometimes to be rather nice and refind than

solid, would persuade us that this confusion is merely apparent and that the order he

has chosen is the most happy he could possibly have hit upon. But as far as I can see

there is not only an apparent but a real

confusion. Thus in the oration

περι

παραπρεσβειας he begins his oration

with telling the people that there were 5 things

which a people may

[to] expect from an ambassador and these he repeats in order.

One should expect from this that he was to begin with the 1

and having discussed it

proceed to the 2

, from that to the 3

and so on; but of this we find nothing thro the

whole; he begins at the first to give us a narration of the whole story as it happened,

and tho we might perhaps reduce all that he has thrown together in that Oration

to one

or other of these, yet they are not at all classed in that order but told in the very order

they happened; and from the whole it appears most probable that this division was

added after the oration was wrote, and that when <he> | begun it he had no thought of

dividing it, but finding before he got to the conclusion that it would be difficult to

observe at what the several parts pointed, he has afterwards prefixed

the division, to

point out what the hearers were chiefly to consider in the Oration. Æschines on the

other hand is very happy in his divisions and, as I said before, attains in them a

perfection very seldom met with, as he renders them even entertaining, and to these

divisions he adheres very strictly. The best apology we can make for Demosthenes in

this defect is that his eagerness, vehemence and passion have hurried him on both in

speaking and writing to deliver the severall parts of his oration in the manner they

affected him most, without considering in what manner they would give the hearer

reader the clearest notion of what he delivers. {And we see this accordingly is most

remarkably the case in those orations which he himself delivered and in which he was

most interested}

The characters of these two Orators were we are informed very agreable to that which

we would be apt to form from the consideration of their writings. Æschines who was

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bred a player,

an employment as creditable at that time as it is discreditable now, had

all the mirth, gaiety and levity which we | find in most of his profession. This temper

made his company be greatly sought after by all the young people of his time, as he

himself tells us and Demosthenes throws up to him as being noway to his honour. He

seems also to have had a goo[o]d deal of the mimick about him; and there are some

passages in the oration abovementioned which are evidently intend<ed> to mimick

Demosthenes and must have been delivered with his tone and Gesture. This talent of

mimickry recommended him to the favour and patronage of Philip, who we are told was

extremely delighted with all sorts of mimicks and Buffoons.

Demosthenes on the other hand was of an austere and rigid disposition, which made

him not be affected with anything which was not of importance, but at the same time

his vehemence made him enter into every thing which was of any moment with the

greatest warmth; and prosecute those who seemed to deserve his indignation. This

temper made <him> not much entertained with common conversation as there are but

few things of importance generally canvassed in it, and at the same time made him not

be much desired as a companion, as men of this character | can neither be much

intertained by other<s> or be very entertaining. He therefore lived for the most part

shut up in his own house seeing and seen by very few. He spent much of his time in the

study of the Stoick and Platonick Philosophy, to the latter of which he seems to have

been most addicted. He has in most of his passionate and animated passages many of

the sentiments of those philosophers, particularly in that where he introduces the

famous Oath mentioned by Longinus.

And there <are> many pass[s]ages which

resemble Plato so much even in the expression that I have been often tempted to

believe that he had Copied them from him. I should have given you a translation of

these two orations

were it not that they are both of them very long and could not be

abriged without loosing greatly in their merit. I would however reckommend them

greatly to your perusall as they are not only excellent in their way, but also as they give

us a very good Abrigement of the History of Greece for a period of considerable length.

There are severall other Greek orators whose works are still remaining but as they are

but little read and are generally in private causes | which are commonly not

[not] the

most entertaining I shall pass them over altogether and proceed to make some

observations on Cicero and the Differences betwixt his manner and that of

Demos<thenes>.

I have already

pointed out some of the Differences betwixt those two great Orators,

which appear to me to proceed chiefly from the different conditions and Genius of their

two nations. I shall now observe more particularly those which proceed from the

differences of character and circumstances of the men themselves.

There is no character in antiquity with which we are better acquainted than with that of

Cicero, which is evidently displayed in all his works and in particular must receive great

light from his Epistles.—But we may perhaps discover more of the real

spirit and turn

of his writings by considering his naturall temper, his Education, and the Genius of the

times he lived in, than from the Observations of his Criticks. But altho these men have a

very extraordinary knack at mistaking his meaning, yet they have not been able to err

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so grosely with respect to his character, so clearly does it shine out, as the sun now

does

| thro all his writings. He seems to have

by nature [nature] had along with a

great degree of Sensibility and Natural parts a considerable share of Vanity and

Ostentation. Sensibility is without doubt a most amiable character, and one which is of

all others most engaging; We may therefore with justice make some allowance if it be

joind with some failings. Now there are no two tempers of mind which are so often

combind as Levity in a certain proportion and a great degree of Sensibility. The same

temper which disposes one to partake in the joys or misfortunes of others, or to be

much affected with ones own, is naturally connected with a disposition that makes one

both easily buoyed up by the smallest circumstances of the pleasant kind and depressed

with those which are in the least distressing, and at the same time prompts them to

communicate their feelings with others no less at the one time than at the other. One

who is of a Joyous temper turns every thing that

happens to him into an object of

pleasure, and dwells on the most minute circumstances; and is no less inclined to

communicate it to others. If it happens that he has nothing which immediately calls for

any exertion of this happy temper | his happy condition becomes an object of his joy, he

looks on himself and his condition with a certain complacense and his joy becomes the

object of his Joy; the same disposition which makes him communicate his joy at other

times and expatiate on the agreableness of certain things around, makes him now dwell

upon himself and be continually talking of the happiness of his circumstances and the

joy of his own mind. A morose or melancholy man on the other hand takes everything in

the worst light and finds something in it which distresses

him, and when nothing

occurrs which can give him any real distress his own unhappiness becomes his vexation.

He continually dwells on the misery of his own disposition which thus turns every thing

to his misery.—He talks of himself no less than the Joyous man, and as the one dwells

on the happiness of his condition so he insists on the misery of his. A man of great

Sensibility, in the same manner, who enters

much into the happiness or distress either

of himself or others is no less inclind to display these sensations to others, and | in this

way will frequently talk

of himself and frequently with a good deal of vanity and

ostentation. We see that the women, who are generally thought to have a good deal

more of Levity and vanity in their temper, are at the same time acknowledged to have

more sensibility and compassion in their tempers than the men. The French nation who

are thought

<to have> more levity and Vanity than most others are reckoned to be the

most humane and charitable of any.

Cicero seems in the same way to have been possessed of a very high degree of

Sensibility and to have been very easily depressed or elated by the missfortunes or

prosperity of his friends {as his letters to them evidently shew, where he enters intirely

into their misfortunes

} or of himself; which levity of temper tho it might indispose him

for Publick business and render him somewhat unsettled in his behaviour would

nevertheless be of no small advantage to him as a speaker. {Men of the greatest

Calmeness and Prudence are not generally

the most sensible and Compassionate} It

would also make him a very agreable and pleasant companion and dispose him

frequently to mirth and | Jovialty. We are told accordingly that his apothegms

sayings were no less esteemed than his orations; Volumes of them were handed about

in his life time and his servant Tyro published 7 volumes of them after his death. We

may reasonably suppose that one of this temper would be very susceptible of all the

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different passions but of none more than of pity and compassion, which accordingly

appears to have been that which chiefly affected him.

Cicero lived at a time when learning had been introduced into Rome and was indeed but

just then introduced. It was in very high reputation and as Novelty generally inhances

the value of a thing it was perhaps more highly esteemed than it deserved, and than it

was afterwards when they became better acquainted with it. Rhetorick and Dialectick

were the Sciences which had then arrived to the greatest perfection and were the most

fashionable study amongst all the polite men of Rome. Their | Dialectick was pretty

much the same with that of Aristotle though somewhat altered and improved by the

Stoicks, who cultivated it more than the Peripatiticks. Their Rhetorick was that of

Henagoras

which I have already touched upon. To these studies Cicero applied himself

with great assiduity till the age of 25. He tells that he disputed under the inspection of

some of the most Renowned masters severall hours every day. After this having

appeared in two or three causes, one of which was that of Roscius

of Almeira,

and

gain’d no little reputation as a speaker, he went over into Gree<c>e where he staid [a]

about two years. This time he employed in attending the Harangues and Discourses of

the most Celebrated Orators and Philosophers of the time, under whose direction he

wrote and delivered harangues and orations of all sorts. The Eloquence then in fashion

in Greece had deviated a good deal from the Simplicity and easiness of Demosthenes

but still retained a great deall of familiarity | and Homelyness, which was unknown in

the Pleadings at Rome for the reasons I have already pointed out. When he returned

from his travells he found a more florid and Splendid Stile to be fashionable at Rome

than what he had met with at Athens or the other parts of Greece; and Hortensius,

the most Celebrated orator of his time, was more florid and aimd more at the Splendor

and Grandeur then esteemd than any other. We would naturally expect of a man of this

temper, this Education and in these circumstances the very conduct that Cicero had

followd in his works. We should expect that he would aim at that Splendor and dignity of

expression which was then fashionable tho conterary to the familiar method which was

esteemed in Greece. We may expect that he will be at considerable pains to display his

knowledge in those Sciences which were then in highest repute; That we will find in

<his> Orations the whole of those parts which were reckoned proper to the form of a

regular oration; a Regular exordium, narration where ever the Subject will admit of it, a

Proof, a confu|tation, and perroration, all regularly marked out [all regularly marked

out]. We might expect also that he would even sometimes adhere to the Rhetoricall

divisions and topicks where they appeared to be very unsuitable to the cause in hand,

as we saw in his Oration for Milo. We may expect also that one of his cast as his temper

naturally leads him to compassion will be more inclind to undertake a defense than to

accuse; whic<h> we see was the case, and when he has been necessitated to accuse he

will insist rather on the missfortunes of the injurd than on the guilt of the Offender; As

we see he does in his orations in Verrem,

where he dwells chiefly on the misfortunes

of some of the oppressed Syracusans etc., touching but little on the crimes

of the

Praetor. We may expect too that he would have some part of his oration where he

would purposely endeavour to move the Compassion of the Judges towards the Injurd

persons. This he generally places

immediately before the perroration; Which is much

preferable | to one placed nearer the beginning; for compassion even when strongest is

but a short lived passion. So that the whole influence of it would be lost if it was placd

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near the beginning before the time came where it was to produce its effect.

observes

that Cicero generally draws the attention of the Reader from the cause to himself and

tho we admire the Orator we do not reap great instruction with regard to the Cause.

This observation so far as it is just proceeds from the Digressions which Cicero

introduces in many parts of his Orations to raise the passions of his audience, tho

sometimes they do not tend to explain the cause.

Demosthenes was very different from this both in naturall temper and the Genius of the

Country. He was of an austere temper which was not easily moved but by things of a

very important nature, and in all cases his indignation rose much higher than his

compassion. His earnestness makes him hurry on from one thing to another without

attending to any particular order. Logice or Dialectick was not then | nor was it or

Rhetorick ever in such high reputation as they were afterwards at Rome, and

accordingly we find no traces of their divisions in his Orations. He frequently has no

exordium, at least none distinc<t>ly marked from the narration, and the other parts are

in like manner blended together. The Florid and Splendid does not appear in his works,

a more easy and familiar one was more esteemd in his time. The passion which

animates him in all his orations is Indignation, and this as it is a more lasting passion

than Compassion he often begins with and continues in thro a whole oration. The free

and easy manner of the Greeks would not admit of any such perroration designed to

move the passions as those we meet with in Cicero; and it is not accordingly to be met

with in any of the Greek orators. Upon the whole Cicero is more apt to draw our Pity and

love and Demosthenes to raise our Indignation. The one is strong and commanding, the

other persuasive | and moving. The character Quinctilian gives of Cicero intirely

corresponds with this.— — —

Of all the immense number of Orators who are enumerated

by Quinctilian,

none

have come down to us excepting Cicero. With regard to those who preceded him and

were his contemporaries we surely may

regreat the loss; but as to those who came

after him, they are perhaps as well buried in oblivion as if they remained to perplex

us.—We see that even Cicero introduces in his Orations severall digressions which

tended merely to amuse the Judge without in the least explaining the cause. This

became the universall and ordinary practise after his time, insomuch that there were fixt

pla[e]ces where these digressions were introduced. There was one betwixt the narration

and the proof, of which I can see no design unless it was make the judge forget what

they were to prove. There was another betwixt the proof and the confutation and

another betwixt that and the perroration, for which I can see no purpose but the same

as the former. The whole | of their orations was also filled with figures as they called

them, no less usefull than these digressions. We may see how far this was come so

soon after Cicero’s time as that of Tiberius, by the Story of one

<Albucius>. He when

pleading against one <Arruntius>

offered to referr it to his oath, which he accepted;

But says he, you must swear by the ashes of your father which are unburied etc.; and

so on, laying all sort of crimes to his charge. The man accepted the condition but

refused to allow him to swear saying that it was only a figure. And when

the man insisted on his standing to his word he told them if that was the case there

would be an end of all figures. <Arruntius>

told him he believed men could live without

them, and still insisted on the oaths being put to him, which the judges agreed to. But

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was so enraged at his figures being thus laid hold on that he swore he

should never appear at the bar for the future. He kept his word and we are told he used

to brag that he had more hearers at his house listening to his declamations on feigned

Causes than others had at their pleading on real ones. | In a short time their Orations

came to be nothing but a String of Digressions and figures of this sort one after another,

so that we need not wonder at what Quinctilian informs us of, that there were many

orations delivered for which the pleader was highly commended when at the same time

no one could tell on which side of the cause he was.

We need not therefore regret

much the loss of these later orations.

I shall now give ye some account of the state of the Judicial eloquence of England,

which is very different from that either of Gree<c>e or of Rome. This difference is

generally ascribed to the small progress which has been made in the cultivation of

language and Stile in this country compared with that which it had arrived to in the Old

World. But <tho> this may be true in some degree, yet I imagine there are other

causes which must make them essentially different. The eloquence which is now in

greatest esteem is a plain, distinct, and perspicuous Stile without any of the Floridity or

other ornamentall parts of the Old Eloquence. This and other differences must

necessarily arise from the nature of the | courts and the particular turn of the people.

The Courts were then

much in the same manner as the Jury is now; they were men

unskilld in the Law, whose office continued but for a very short time and were often in a

great part chosen for the trial of that particular cause, and not from any particular set of

men, but often by ballot or rotation from the whole body of the people; and of them

there was always no inconsiderable number. The Judges in England on the other hand

are single men, who have been bred to the law and have generally or at least are

supposed to have a thorough knowledge of the law and are much versed in all the

different circumstances of cases, of

which they have attended many before

either as

Judges or pleaders, and are supposed to be acquainted with all the different arguments

that may be advanced on it. This therefore cutts them out from a great part of the

substance of the old orations. There can here be no room for a narration, | the only

design of which is

by interweaving those facts for which

proof can be brought with

others for which no proof can be brought, that these latter may gain credit by their

connection with the others. But as nothing is now of any weight for which direct proof is

not brought this sort of narration should serve no end. The pleader therefore can do no

more than tell over what facts

he is to prove, which may often be very unconnected.

The only case indeed where he can give a compleat narration of the whole transaction is

when he has <a> witness who has been present thro the whole, which can happen but

very rarely. {And if he should assert any thing as a fact, as the old orators frequently

did, for which he can bring no proof he would be severely reprimanded.} The pleader

has here no opportunity of smoothing over any argument which would make against

him, as the Judge will perceive it and pay no regard to what he advances in this

manner. Nor can he conceal any weak side by placing it betwixt two on which he

depends for the proof of it, as this would be | soon perceived. All these

were

particularly directed by the antient Rhetoricians; the innatention and ignorance of the

Judges was the sole foundation of it; as [as] this is not now to be expected they can be

of no service. The Pleader must be much more Close than those of ancient R<ome> or

G<reece>, and we find that those Pleaders are most esteemed who point out the

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Subject in the clearest and distinctest manner and endeavour to give the Judge a fair

idea of the Cause.

A great popular assembly is a great object which strikes the Speaker at first with awe

and dread, but as they begin to be moved by the cause and the Speaker himself to be

interested in it they then animate him and embolden him. The confusion which he will

perceive amongst them will give him courage and rouse his passions. A Single Judge is

but a single man and he, attended with a pityfull Jury, can neither strike such awe nor

animate the passions. Florid speakers are not at all in esteem. One who was to Storm

and Thunder before 5 or 6 persons would be taken for a fool or a madman; Tho the

same | behaviour before a Great assembly of the People would appear very proper and

suitable to the occasion. It might perhaps seem that the House of Lords which consist of

a considerable number might give an opportunity of being more animated and

passionate. But in most private causes there are not above 30%

of them together. In

State trials indeed they are all met, but then the great order and decorum which is kept

up there gives no opportunity for expatiating. In all the State trialls which have been

published those speeches were most commended which proceeded in the most naturall

and plain order; and if ever one brings in any thing that may appear designed to move

the passions it must be only by the by, a hint and no more. The order and Decorum of

Behaviour which is now in fashion will not admit of any the least extravagancies. The

behaviour which is reckoned polite in England is a calm, composed, unpassionate

serenity

| noways ruffled by passion. Foreigners observe that there is no nation in the

world which use so little gesticulation in their conversation as the English. A Frenchman

in telling a story that was not of the least consequence to him or any one else will use

1000 gestures and contortions of his face, whereas a well bread Englishman will tell you

one wherein his life and fortune are concerned without altering a muscle in his face.—

Montain in some of his essays

tells us that he had seen the same Opera acted before

both an English and an Italian audience; the difference of their behaviour he says was

very remarkable; At the time where the one would be dying away in extasies of

pleasure the others would not appear to be the least moved. This is attributed by that

Judicious Frenchman to their want of Sensibility and ignorance of Music: But in this he

seems to be mistaken; For if there is any art thoroughly understood in England it is

Musick. The lower[s] sort often

evidence a great accuracy of Judgement in it, and the

better sort often | display a thorough and most masterly knowledge of it. The real cause

is the different idea of Politeness.

The Spaniards notion of Politeness is a Majestick Proud and overbearing philosophic

Gravity. A Frenchman again places it in an easy gaiety, affableness and Sensibility.

Politeness again in England consists in Composure, calm and u<n>ruffled behaviour.

The most Polite persons are those only who go to the Operas and any emotion would

there be reckoned altogether indecent. And we see that when the same persons go out

of frolick to a Beargarden or such like ungentlemanny entertainment they preserve the

same composure as before at the Opera, while the Rabble about express all the various

passions by their gesture and behaviour.

We are not then to expect that any thing passionate or exagerated will be admitted in

the house of Lords.

Nothing will be receivd there which is not or at least appears not to

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be a plain, just and exact account. The pleadings

for this reason of the most Celebrated

Speakers | appear to us to be little more than the heads of a discourse as we are here

accustomed with a more loose way of pleading. If however under this appearance of

plainess and candidness the pleader can artfully interweave something which favours his

side the effect may often be very great.

The Lords in their speeches to one another always observe the same rules of Decorum

and if any thing of passion be hinted at it must be a hint only. We see that those who

have made great figures as speakers in the house of Commons, where a very loose

manner and often a great deal of Ribaldry and abuse is admitted of, lost their character

when transferred into the upper house. For tho they were sensible that the manner they

had been acc[o]ustomed to

was not at all proper there yet it was not in their power to

lay it aside all at once. Many of the speeches of the | State trials must have had a great

deal of their effect from the delivery and Emphasis with which the different heads, for

little more can here be admitted of, were delivered: That of Atterbury

which is

spoken of with Rapture by all who heard it, appears to us confused and unnanimated,

tho it certainly produce(d) a wonderfull effect on the hearers.

—Floridity and Splendor

has allway<s> been disliked. Sir Robert Walpoles speech on

was for its being

somewhat of this sort called by way of derision an Oration.

I shall only observe farther on this head that the idea of English Eloquence hinted at

here is very probably a just one, as the two most admired orators, Lord Mansefield and

Sir Wm. Pym, spoke exactly in the same manner tho very distant in their time.

The

former however

is to us more agreable on account of the langu[e]age and is without

doubt greatly more perspicuous and orderly.

ENDNOTES

[

] MS XXIX

[

] for second?

[

] changed from and

[

] Proceedings usuall deleted

[

] supply of Lysias?

[

] numbers written above reverse the original Judicciall private

[

] MS Æschyles, with note in margin in Hand B(?) Lege Eschines semper, corrected to

Æschines

[1 ]

Lycurgus, Against Leocrates; Aeschines, see n.2 below; Demosthenes, speeches

18–24, but Against Meidias (see LJ ii.138, and Longinus xx.1) was never delivered.

Demosthenes therefore delivered six.

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[

] MS Æschylus for Æschines; so repeatedly up to 230

[2 ]

To summarize the altercations: Demosthenes and Aeschines went on embassage to

Macedon in 346BC; the prosecution of Aeschines for misconducting it by Demosthenes

and Timarchus was delayed by Aeschines charging Timarchus with vices incompatible

with public office—Against Timarchus, 345

BC; Demosthenes alone in 343BC prosecuted

Aeschines, who successfully defended himself—the two speeches περ τς

παραπρεσβείας (usually called De falsa legatione, since Cicero in Orator, xxxi.111, spoke

of the first as ‘contra Aeschinem falsae legationis’) in 366

BC Ctesiphon carried a motion

to award Demosthenes a golden crown for services to the state, but Aeschines

prosecuted him in 330

BC for unconsitutional action—Against Ctesiphon—with

Demosthenes defending successfully in the speech usually called περ το στε άνου or

De Corona (but of course both speeches are ‘on the Crown’). Aeschines left Athens in

mortification (not banished).

[

] i.e. Ctesiphon

[

] often deleted

[

] ugh inserted later below line

[

] MS when every, y deleted

[

] often deleted

[

] But tho Demosthenes may be inferior to his Rivall in the deleted (anticipation of

next paragraph)

[

] general conduct replaces oratory (?)

[3 ] References as follows: Against Ctesiphon, 54–6—the four periods of Demosthenes’

political activity equated with four periods in the city’s history (Aeschines misuses this);

ibid. 149–50—Demosthenes’ frantic behaviour in jumping up in the assembly and

swearing an oath by Athena, as if Pheidias had made her statue expressly for

Demosthenes to perjure himself by— all out of pique at not sharing the bribe–money;

ibid. 157 ff.—Aeschines on capture of Thebes, contrasted with Demosthenes on news of

the capture of Elateia by Philip (De Corona, 169); cf. i.74 n.2 above.

[

] replaces are des

[

] MS which

[

] This time changed from Æschylus

[

] blank of about ten letters in MS

[

] con deleted

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[

] replaces arranged

[

] changed from Æschylus in a different hand

[

] numbers written above change original order a real but an apparent

[

] of deleted

[4 ]

De falsa legatione, 4: an ambassador’s responsibilities embrace his reports, the

advice he offers, observance of his instructions, use of times and opportunities, and

integrity.—For Dionysius of Halicarnassus and his praise of the methods of Demosthenes

see his Critical Essays i (LCL).

[

] changed from had

[

] for narration

[

] replaces, in inner margin, added

[

] MS hearre

[5 ]

Aeschines as a small–part actor with two ‘Growlers’ ( τριταγωνίστεις), see De

Corona, 262–6; and Demosthenes’ mocking question at 180, ‘What part do you wish me

to assign you . . . in the drama of that great day?’; also De falsa leg. 246. For the

equivocal response of Aeschines to taunts about his licentious and unsavoury private

life: Against Timarchus, 135; Against Ctesiphon, 216. Demosthenes addresses

Aeschines as a ‘disreputable quill–driver’, a ‘third–rate tragedian’, at De Corona 209.

[6 ]

On the Sublime cites the two most famous passages in De Corona: at x.7 the news

of Elateia (see i.74 n.2, ii.228 above); at xvi.2, Demosthenes’ impassioned oath (De

Cor. 208) by those who fought at Marathon, Plataea, Salamis, by all brave men who rest

in public sepulchres—much admired by Quintilian (IX.ii.62, XI.iii.168, XII.x.24) and

other rhetoricians.

[7 ]

De Corona and De falsa legatione: apparently the speeches of Demosthenes,

though as at ii.222 above the context is ambiguous.

[

] numbers written above reverse the original order not commonly; then a

superfluous not

[

] shewn deleted

[8 ] Cf. ii.151 ff. above.

[

] geni deleted

[

] last five words added (scribe’s remark?) at foot of page

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[

] been deleted

[

] can deleted

[

] changed from depresses

[

] changed from partakes

[

] ing deleted

[

] thought deleted, wrongly?

[

] and deleted

[

] best deleted

[9 ]

Quintilian (VI.iii.5) wishes Tiro had shown more judgment in selecting the three

volumes of Cicero’s jests or obiter dicta than zeal in collecting them. Cicero (Ad

Familiares, IX.xvi.4) reports that Caesar, who was making a collection of apophthegms,

had instructed his friends to bring him any mots they picked up in Cicero’s company.

[

] i.e. Hermagoras; line above and below in MS

[10 ] Cf. ii.213 ff. above, 242 below. Hermagoras (c. 150 BC), a very influential teacher

of rhetoric, whom Cicero (Brutus, lxxvi.263 ff., lxxviii.271) found unhelpful for

embellishment of style but a purveyor of useful precepts and guidelines of general

applicability in argument: ‘ad inveniendum expedita Hermagorae disciplina’. Hence

frequent references to him in Cicero’s early De Inventione. On Pro Roscio Amerino cf.

ii.194 n.2 above.

[

] i.e. Ameria

[

] Greece deleted

[11 ]

Q. Hortensius Hortalus (114–50

). See ii.169 n.5 above.

[12 ]

For Gaius Verres, pro–praetor of Sicily 73–71

, cf. ii.154 above; prosecuted by

Cicero for the people of Sicily in 70

BC.—Verrine orations, (LCL).

[

] inserted later in short blank left

[

] scribe wrote im of immediately, then repeated places

[

] blank of five letters in MS

[13 ]

Cicero’s critic here is almost certainly Quintilian; cf. his report of Cicero’s famous

boast over the Cluentius case, II.xvii.21 (ii.211 n.6 above).

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[14 ]

XII.x.12–26, following a list of ancient painters (3–6) and sculptors (7–9).

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[

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[15 ]

The advocate Albucius is infuriated when his challenge to his opponent Arruntius,

‘Will you swear by the ashes of your father?’, is taken literally and accepted, since he

insists it was a figure (the Omotic). ‘Nota enim fabula est’ (Quintilian, IX.ii.95). See

Seneca the Elder, Controversiae, VII. praefatio 6–7 (Albucius incidentally is breathless

with admiration for Hermagoras, 5). LCL edn. cites also Suctonius De grammaticis et

rheloribus, XXX.3.

[

] blank in MS: supply Albucius

[

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[

] required, but no blank in MS

[16 ] The remark is not in Quintilian; but its spirit informs the little portrait in Persius,

Satire i.85–8, of the advocate Pedius (the name is from Horace, Satires I.x.28) to whom

the fate of his client is indifferent as long as the beauty of his speech (‘rasis/librat in

antithetis, doctas posuisse figuras’) is admired; and Quintilian’s own question (XI.i.49–

50) on what we should think of a man pleading his imperilled case and hunting only for

fine words (‘verba aucupantem et anxium de fama ingenii’), with leisure to show off his

eloquence (‘diserto’).

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[17 ] The word ‘essays’ betrays that the scribe is thinking of Montaigne, in error for

Montesquieu: De l’esprit des lois (1748), XIV.ii (entitled ‘Combien les hommes sont

différens dans les divers climats’), §8: ‘Comme on distingue les climats par les degrés

de latitude, on pourroit les distinguer, pour ainsi dire, par les degrés de sensibilité. J’ai

vû les Opéra d’Angleterre et d’Italie; ce sont les mêmes pieces et les mêmes Acteurs;

mais la même Musique produit des effets si différens sur les deux Nations, l’une est si

calme, et l’autre si transportée, que cela paroit inconcevable’. The 18th century saw

much controversy over the relative musical capacities of different peoples and their

languages; Rousseau was involved in one over French and Italian.

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all the speakers of Repute have practised: Many of the Ora

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[18 ] The speech which Henry Sacheverell delivered on 7 March 1710 at his

impeachment before the House of Lords differed so much in tone and style—quiet and

modest, with balanced phrasing and an edge of paradox—from the two offending

sermons he had preached at Derby Assizes and at St Paul’s in August and November

1709, that everyone believed it to be by Francis Atterbury (1662–1732), later Bishop of

Rochester. It was printed in A compleat history of the whole proceedings of the

Parliament of Great Britain against Dr. Henry Sacheverell: with his Tryal before the

House of Peers, for High Crimes and Misdemeanors, 1710: 2.66–84; reprinted as

‘universally ascribed to Dr. Atterbury when originally published’, in The Epistolary

Correspondence, Visitation Charges, Speeches and Miscellanies of Atterbury, iii (1784),

456–502.

Any identification of the ‘oration’ of Sir Robert Walpole referred to would be guesswork.

He eschewed flights of oratory, but his speeches were often praised. Burke, in An

Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs, thought Walpole’s speech on the Sacheverell

trial a clear exposition of constitutional principle. In his refutation of Pulteney’s vote of

censure in January 1742 ‘he exceeded himself . . . He actually dissected Mr Pulteney’,

according to Sir Robert Wilmot. But the reference above may be to his only speech, as

Earl of Orford, in the House of Lords, speaking on 24 February 1744 on an apprehended

French invasion in support of Prince Charles Edward: ‘a long and fine speech’, said his

son Horace, a connoisseur in such matters. See W. Coxe. Memoirs of . . . Sir R.W.,

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1798; and J. H. Plumb, Sir Robert Walpole, 1956–61.

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[19 ] William Murray (1705–93), judge and parliamentarian, was created Baron

Mansfield of Mansfield in 1756; first Earl, 1776. ‘In all debates of consequence [he] had

greatly the advantage over Pitt in point of argument’ (Waldegrave, 1755); Horace

Walpole, an opponent, ‘never heard so much argument, so much sense, so much

oratory united’ (Memoirs of the reign of George II, iii.120), as in a 1758 speech of

Mansfield’s. The lucidity and sharpness of his forensic oratory are even more highly

praised by contemporaries.

Pym is the parliamentarian John Pym (1583–1643), a leading speaker in the Commons

from 1621 onwards: bibliographical details in S. R. Brett, John Pym 1583–1643: the

statesman of the Puritan Revolution, 1940. The scribe confuses him no doubt with

William Prynne (see i.10 n.9 above), much better known as a pamphleteer than as a

parliamentary orator.

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CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING THE FIRST FORMATION

LANGUAGES,

AND THE DIFFERENT GENIUS OF ORIGINAL AND COMPOUNDED

LANGUAGES.

CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING THE FIRST FORMATION OF LANGUAGES,

&C. &C.

THE assignation of particular names, to denote particular objects, that is, the institution of nouns

substantive, would probably, be one of the first steps towards the formation of language. Two

savages,

who had never been taught to speak, but had been bred up remote from the societies

of men, would naturally begin to form that language by which they would endeavour to make

their mutual wants intelligible to each other, by uttering certain sounds, whenever they meant to

denote certain objects. Those objects only which were most familiar to them, and which they had

most frequent occasion to mention, would have particular names assigned to them. The particular

cave whose covering sheltered them from the weather, the particular tree whose fruit relieved

their hunger, the particular fountain whose water allayed their thirst, would first be denominated

by the words cave, tree, fountain, or by whatever other appellations they might think proper, in

that primitive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards, when the more enlarged experience of these

savages had led them to observe, and their necessary occasions obliged them to make mention of

other caves, and other trees, and other fountains, they would naturally bestow, upon each of

those new objects, the same name, by which they had been accustomed to express the similar

object they were first acquainted with. The new objects had none of them any name of its own,

but each of them exactly resembled another object, which had such an appellation. It was

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impossible that those savages could behold the new objects, without recollecting the old ones;

and the name of the old ones, to which the new bore so close a resemblance. When they had

occasion, therefore, to mention, or to point out to each other, any of the new objects, they would

naturally utter the name of the correspondent old one, of which the idea could not fail, at that

instant, to present itself to their memory in the strongest and liveliest manner. And thus, those

words, which were originally the proper names of individuals, would each of them insensibly

become the common name of a multitude. A child that is just learning to speak, calls every

person who comes to the house its papa or its mama; and thus bestows upon the whole species

those names which it had been taught to apply to two individuals. I have known a clown, who did

not know the proper name of the river which ran by his own door. It was

the river, he said, and

he never heard any other name for it. His experience, it seems, had not led him to observe any

other river. The general word river

, therefore, was, it is evident, in his acceptance of it, a proper

name, signifying an individual object. If this person had been carried to another river, would he

not readily have called it a river? Could we suppose any person living on the banks of the Thames

so ignorant, as not to know the general word river, but to be acquainted only with the particular

word Thames, if he was brought to any other river, would he not readily call it a

Thames? This,

in reality, is no more than what they, who are well acquainted with the general word, are very apt

to do. An Englishman, describing any great river which he may have seen in some foreign

country, naturally says, that it is another Thames. The Spaniards, when they first arrived upon

the coast of Mexico, and observed the wealth, populousness, and habitations of that fine country,

so much superior to the savage nations which they had been visiting for some time before, cried

out, that it was another Spain. Hence it was called New Spain; and this name has stuck to that

unfortunate country ever since. We say, in the same manner, of a hero, that he is an Alexander;

of an orator, that he is a Cicero; of a philosopher, that he is a Newton. This way of speaking,

which the grammarians call an Antonomasia, and which is still extremely common, though now

not at all necessary, demonstrates how much mankind are naturally disposed to give to one

object the name of any other, which nearly resembles it, and thus to denominate a multitude, by

what originally was intended to express an individual.

It is this application of the name

of an individual to a great multitude of objects, whose

resemblance naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of the name which expresses it, that

seems originally to have given occasion to the formation of those classes and assortments, which,

in the schools, are called genera and species, and of which the ingenious and eloquent M.

Rousseau of Geneva

finds himself so much at a loss to account for the origin. What constitutes a

species is merely a number of objects, bearing a certain degree of resemblance to one another,

and on that account denominated by a single appellation, which may be applied to express any

one of them.

When the greater part of objects had thus been arranged under their proper classes and

assortments, distinguished by such general names, it was impossible that the greater part of that

almost infinite number of individuals, comprehended under each particular assortment or species,

could have any peculiar or proper names of their own, distinct from the general name of the

species. When there was occasion, therefore, to mention any particular object, it often became

necessary to distinguish it from the other objects comprehended under the same general name,

either, first, by its peculiar qualities; or, secondly, by the peculiar relation which it stood in to

some other things. Hence the necessary origin of two other sets of words, of which the one

should express quality; the other, relation.

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Nouns adjective

are the words which express quality considered as qualifying, or, as the

schoolmen say, in concrete with, some particular subject. Thus the word green expresses a

certain quality considered as qualifying, or as in concrete with, the particular subject to which it

may be applied. Words of this kind, it is evident, may serve to distinguish particular objects from

others comprehended under the same general appellation. The words green tree, for example,

might serve to distinguish a particular tree from others that were withered or blasted.

Prepositions are the words which express relation considered, in the same manner, in concrete

with the co–relative object. Thus the prepositions of, to, for, with, by, above, below, &c.

denote

some relation subsisting between the objects expressed by the words between which the

prepositions are placed; and they denote that this relation is considered in concrete with the co–

relative object. Words of this kind serve to distinguish particular objects from others of the same

species, when those particular objects cannot be so properly marked out by any peculiar qualities

of their own. When we say, the green tree of the meadow, for example, we distinguish a

particular tree, not only by the quality which belongs to it, but by the relation which it stands in to

another object.

As neither quality nor relation can exist in abstract, it is natural to suppose that the words which

denote them considered in concrete, the way in which we always see them subsist, would be of

much earlier invention than those which express them considered in abstract, the way in which

we never see them subsist. The words green and blue would, in all probability, be sooner

invented than the words greenness and blueness; the words above and below, than the words

superiority and inferiority. To invent words of the latter kind requires a much greater effort of

abstraction than to invent those of the former. It is probable, therefore, that such abstract terms

would be of much later institution. Accordingly, their etymologies generally shew

that they are

so, they being generally derived from others that are concrete.

But though the invention of nouns adjective be much more natural than that of the abstract

nouns substantive derived from them, it would still, however, require a considerable degree of

abstraction and generalization. Those, for example, who first invented the words green, blue, red,

and the other names of colours, must have observed and compared together a great number of

objects, must have remarked their resemblances and dissimilitudes in respect of the quality of

colour, and must have arranged them, in their own minds, into different classes and assortments,

according to those resemblances and dissimilitudes. An adjective is by nature a general, and in

some measure an abstract word, and necessarily presupposes the idea of a certain species or

assortment of things, to all of which it is equally applicable. The word green could not, as we were

supposing might be the case of the word cave, have been originally the name of an individual,

and afterwards have become, by what

grammarians call an Antonomasia, the name of a species.

The word green denoting, not the name of a substance, but the peculiar quality of a substance,

must from the very first have been a general word, and considered as equally applicable to any

other substance possessed of the same quality. The man who first distinguished a particular

object by the epithet of green, must have observed other objects that were not green, from which

he meant to separate it by this appellation. The institution of this name, therefore, supposes

comparison. It likewise supposes some degree of abstraction. The person who first invented this

appellation must have distinguished the quality from the object to which it belonged, and must

have conceived the object as capable of subsisting without the quality. The invention, therefore,

even of the simplest nouns adjective, must have required more metaphysics than we are apt to

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be aware of. The different mental operations, of arrangement or classing, of comparison, and of

abstraction, must all have been employed, before even the names of the different colours, the

least metaphysical of all nouns adjective, could be instituted. From all which I infer, that when

languages were beginning to be formed, nouns adjective would by no means be the words of the

earliest invention.

There is another expedient for denoting the different qualities of different substances, which as it

requires no abstraction, nor any conceived separation of the quality from the subject, seems

more natural than the invention of nouns adjective, and which, upon this account, could hardly

fail, in the first formation of language, to be thought of before them. This expedient is to make

some variation upon the noun substantive itself, according to the different qualities which it is

endowed with. Thus, in many languages, the qualities both of sex and of the want of sex, are

expressed by different terminations in the nouns substantive, which denote objects so qualified.

In Latin, for example, lupus, lupa; equus, equa; juvencus, juvenca; Julius, Julia; Lucretius,

Lucretia, &c. denote the qualities of male and female in the animals and persons to whom such

appellations belong, without needing the addition of any adjective for this purpose. On the other

hand, the words forum, pratum, plaustrum, denote by their peculiar termination the total absence

of sex in the different substances which they stand for. Both sex, and the want of all sex, being

naturally considered as qualities modifying and inseparable from the particular substances to

which they belong, it was natural to express them rather by a modification in the noun

substantive, than by any general and abstract word expressive of this particular species of

quality. The expression bears, it is evident, in this way, a much more exact analogy to the idea or

object which it denotes, than in the other. The quality appears, in nature, as a modification of the

substance, and as

it is thus expressed, in language, by a modification of the noun substantive,

which denotes that substance, the

quality and the subject are, in this case, blended together, if I

may say so, in the expression, in the same manner as they appear to be in the object and in the

idea. Hence the origin of the masculine, feminine, and neutral genders, in all the ancient

languages. By means of these, the most important of all distinctions, that of substances into

animated and inanimated, and that of animals into male and female, seem

to have been

sufficiently marked without the assistance of adjectives, or of any general names denoting this

most extensive species of qualifications.

There are no more than these three genders in any of the languages with which I am acquainted;

that is to say, the formation of nouns substantive can, by itself, and without the accompaniment

of adjectives, express no other qualities but those three above mentioned

, the qualities of male,

of female, of neither male nor female. I should not, however, be surprised, if, in other languages

with which I am unacquainted, the different formations

of nouns substantive

should be capable

of expressing many other different qualities. The different diminutives of the Italian, and of some

other languages, do, in reality, sometimes, express a great variety of different modifications in

the substances denoted by those nouns which undergo such variations.

It was impossible, however, that nouns substantive could, without losing altogether their original

form, undergo so great a number of variations, as would be sufficient to express that almost

infinite variety of qualities, by which it might, upon different occasions, be necessary to specify

and distinguish them. Though the different formation of nouns substantive, therefore, might, for

some time, forestall the necessity of inventing nouns adjective, it was impossible that this

necessity could be forestalled altogether. When nouns adjective came to be invented, it was

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natural that they should be formed with some similarity to the substantives, to which they were

to serve as epithets or qualifications. Men would naturally give them the same terminations with

the substantives to which they were first applied, and from that love of similarity of sound, from

that delight in the returns of the same syllables, which is the foundation of analogy in all

languages, they would be apt to vary the termination of the same adjective, according as they

had occasion to apply it to a masculine, to a feminine, or to a neutral substantive. They would

say, magnus lupus, magna lupa, magnum pratum, when they meant to express a great he wolf, a

great she wolf, a great meadow.

This variation, in the termination of the noun adjective, according to the gender of the

substantive, which takes place in all the ancient languages, seems to have been introduced

chiefly for the sake of a certain similarity of sound, of a certain species of rhyme, which is

naturally so very agreeable to the human ear. Gender, it is to be observed, cannot properly

belong to a noun adjective, the signification of which is always precisely the same, to whatever

species of substantives it is applied. When we say, a great

man, a great woman

, the word

great has precisely the same meaning in both cases, and the difference of the

sex in the subjects

to which it may be applied, makes no sort of difference in its signification. Magnus, magna,

magnum, in the same manner, are words which express precisely the same quality, and the

change of the termination is accompanied with no sort of variation in the meaning. Sex and

gender are qualities which belong to substances, but cannot belong to the qualities of substances.

In general, no quality, when considered in concrete, or as qualifying some particular subject, can

itself be conceived as the subject of any other quality; though when considered in abstract it

may. No adjective therefore can qualify any other adjective. A great good man, means a man

who is both great and good. Both the adjectives qualify the substantive; they do not qualify one

another. On the other hand, when we say, the great goodness of the man, the word goodness

denoting a quality considered in abstract, which may itself be the subject of other qualities, is

upon that account capable of being qualified by the word great.

If the original invention of nouns adjective would be attended with so much difficulty, that of

prepositions would be accompanied with yet more. Every preposition, as I have already observed,

denotes some relation considered in concrete with the co–relative object. The preposition above,

for example, denotes the relation of superiority, not in abstract, as it is expressed by the word

superiority, but in concrete with some co–relative object. In this phrase, for example, the tree

above the cave, the word above expresses a certain relation between the tree and the cave, and

it expresses this relation in concrete with the co–relative object, the cave. A preposition always

requires, in order to complete the sense, some other word to come after it; as may be observed

in this particular instance. Now, I say, the original invention of such words would require a yet

greater effort of abstraction and generalization, than that of nouns adjective. First of all, a

relation is, in itself, a more metaphysical object than a quality. Nobody can be at a loss to explain

what is meant by a quality; but few people will find themselves able to express, very distinctly,

what is understood by a relation. Qualities are almost always the objects of our external senses;

relations never are. No wonder, therefore, that the one set of objects should be so much more

comprehensible than the other. Secondly, though prepositions always express the relation which

they stand for, in concrete with the co–relative object, they could not have originally been formed

without a considerable effort of abstraction. A preposition denotes a relation, and nothing but a

relation. But before men could institute a word, which signified a relation, and nothing but a

relation, they must have been able, in some measure, to consider this relation abstractedly from

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the related objects; since the idea of those objects does not, in any respect, enter into the

signification of the preposition. The invention of such a word, therefore, must have required a

considerable degree of abstraction. Thirdly, a preposition is from its nature a general word, which,

from its very first institution, must have been considered as equally applicable to denote any

other similar relation. The man who first invented the word above, must not only have

distinguished, in some measure, the relation of superiority from the objects which were so

related, but he must also have distinguished this relation from other relations, such as, from the

relation of inferiority denoted by the word below, from the relation of juxtaposition, expressed by

the word beside, and the like. He must have conceived this word, therefore, as expressive of a

particular sort or species of relation distinct from every other, which could not be done without a

considerable effort of comparison and generalization.

Whatever were the difficulties, therefore, which embarrassed the first invention of nouns

adjective, the same, and many more, must have embarrassed that of prepositions. If mankind,

therefore, in the first formation of languages, seem to have, for some time, evaded the necessity

of nouns adjective, by varying the termination of the names of substances, according as these

varied in some of their most important qualities, they would much more find themselves under

the necessity of evading, by some similar contrivance, the yet more difficult invention of

prepositions. The different cases in the ancient languages is a contrivance of precisely the same

kind. The genitive and dative cases, in Greek and Latin, evidently supply the place of the

prepositions; and by a variation in the noun substantive, which stands for the co–relative term,

express the relation which subsists between what is denoted by that noun substantive, and what

is expressed by some other word in the sentence. In these expressions, for example, fructus

arboris, the fruit of the tree; sacer Herculi, sacred to Hercules; the variations made in the co–

relative words, arbor and Hercules, express the same relations which are expressed in English by

the prepositions of and to.

To express a relation in this manner, did not require any effort of abstraction. It was not here

expressed by a peculiar word denoting relation and nothing but relation, but by a variation upon

the co–relative term. It was expressed here, as it appears in nature, not as something separated

and detached, but as thoroughly mixed and blended with the co–relative object.

To express relation in this manner, did not require any effort of generalization. The words arboris

and Herculi, while they involve in their signification the same relation expressed by the English

prepositions of and to, are not, like those prepositions, general words, which can be applied to

express the same relation between whatever other objects it might be observed to subsist.

To express relation in this manner did not require any effort of comparison. The words arboris

and Herculi are not general words intended to denote a particular species of relations which the

inventors of those expressions meant, in consequence of some sort of comparison, to separate

and distinguish from every other sort of relation.

The example, indeed, of this contrivance would

soon probably

be followed, and whoever had occasion to express a similar relation between any

other objects would be very apt to do it by making a similar variation on the name of the co–

relative object. This, I say, would probably, or rather certainly happen; but it would happen

without any intention or foresight in those who first set the example, and who never meant to

establish any general rule. The general rule would establish itself insensibly, and by slow degrees,

in consequence of that love of analogy and similarity of sound, which is the foundation of by far

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the greater part of the rules of grammar.

To express relation, therefore, by a variation in the name of the co–relative object, requiring

neither abstraction, nor generalization, nor comparison of any kind, would, at first, be much more

natural and easy, than to express it by those general words called prepositions, of which the first

invention must have demanded some degree of all those operations.

The number of cases is different in different languages. There are five in the Greek, six in the

Latin, and there are said to be ten in the Armenian

language. It must have naturally happened

that there should be a greater or a smaller number of cases, according as in the terminations of

nouns substantive the first formers of any language happened to have established a greater or a

smaller number of variations, in order to express the different relations they had occasion to take

notice of, before the invention of those more general and abstract prepositions which could supply

their place.

It is, perhaps, worth while to observe that those prepositions, which in modern languages hold

the place of the ancient cases, are, of all others, the most general, and abstract, and

metaphysical; and of consequence, would probably be the last invented. Ask any man of common

acuteness, What relation is expressed by the preposition above? He will readily answer, that of

superiority. By the preposition below? He will as quickly reply, that of inferiority. But ask him,

what relation is expressed by the preposition of, and, if he has not beforehand employed his

thoughts a good deal upon these subjects, you may safely allow him a week to consider of his

answer. The prepositions above and below do not denote any of the relations expressed by the

cases in the ancient languages. But the preposition of, denotes the same relation, which is in

them expressed by the genitive case; and which, it is easy to observe, is of a very metaphysical

nature. The preposition of, denotes relation in general, considered in concrete with the co–relative

object. It marks that the noun substantive which goes before it, is somehow or other related to

that which comes after it, but without in any respect ascertaining, as is done by the preposition

above, what is the peculiar nature of that relation. We often apply it, therefore, to express the

most opposite relations; because, the most opposite relations agree so far that each of them

comprehends in it the general idea or nature of a relation. We say, the father of the son, and the

son of the father; the fir–trees of the forest,

and the forest of the fir–trees. The relation in which

the father stands to the son, is, it is evident, a quite opposite relation to that in which the son

stands to the father; that in which the parts stand to the whole, is quite opposite to that in which

the whole stands to the parts. The word of, however, serves very well to denote all those

relations, because in itself it denotes no particular relation, but only relation in general; and so far

as any particular relation is collected from such expressions, it is inferred by the mind, not from

the preposition itself, but from the nature and arrangement of the substantives, between which

the preposition is placed.

What I have said concerning the preposition of, may in some measure be applied to the

prepositions to, for, with, by, and to whatever other prepositions are made use of in modern

languages, to supply the place of the ancient cases. They all of them express very abstract and

metaphysical relations, which any man, who takes the trouble to try it, will find it extremely

difficult to express by nouns substantive, in the same manner as we may express the relation

denoted by the preposition above, by the noun substantive superiority. They all of them,

however, express some specific relation, and are, consequently, none of them so abstract as the

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preposition of, which may be regarded as by far the most metaphysical of all prepositions. The

prepositions, therefore, which are capable of supplying the place of the ancient cases, being more

abstract than the other prepositions, would naturally be of more difficult invention. The relations

at the same time which those prepositions express, are, of all others, those which we have most

frequent occasion to mention. The prepositions above, below, near, within, without, against, &c.

are much more rarely made use of, in modern languages, than the prepositions of, to, for, with,

from, by. A preposition of the former kind will not occur twice in a page; we can scarce compose

a single sentence without the assistance of one or two of the latter. If these latter prepositions,

therefore, which supply the place of the cases, would be of such difficult invention on account of

their abstractedness, some expedient, to supply their place, must have been of indispensable

necessity, on account of the frequent occasion which men have to take notice of the relations

which they denote. But there is no expedient so obvious, as that of varying the termination of one

of the principal words.

It is, perhaps, unnecessary to observe, that there are some of the cases in the ancient languages,

which, for particular reasons, cannot be represented by any prepositions. These are the

nominative, accusative, and vocative cases. In those modern languages, which do not admit of

any such variety in the terminations of their nouns substantive, the correspondent relations are

expressed by the place of the words, and by the order and construction of the sentence.

As men have frequently occasion to make mention of multitudes as well as of single objects, it

became necessary that they should have some method of expressing number

. Number may be

expressed either by a particular word, expressing number in general, such as the words many,

more, &c. or by some variation upon the words which express the things numbered. It is this last

expedient which mankind would probably have recourse to, in the infancy of language. Number,

considered in general, without relation to any particular set of objects numbered, is one of the

most abstract and metaphysical ideas, which the mind of man is capable of forming; and,

consequently, is not an idea, which would readily occur to rude mortals, who were just beginning

to form a language. They would naturally, therefore, distinguish when they talked of a single, and

when they talked of a multitude of objects, not by any metaphysical adjectives, such as the

English a, an, many, but by a variation upon the termination of the word which signified the

objects numbered. Hence the origin of the singular and plural numbers, in all the ancient

languages; and the same distinction has likewise been retained in all the modern languages, at

least, in the greater part of words.

All primitive and uncompounded languages seem to have a dual, as well as a plural number. This

is the case of the Greek, and I am told of the Hebrew, of the Gothic, and of many other

languages

. In the rude beginnings of society, one, two, and more, might possibly be all the

numeral distinctions which mankind would have any occasion to take notice of. These they would

find it more natural to express, by a variation upon every particular noun substantive, than by

such general and abstract words as one, two, three, four, &c. These words, though custom has

rendered them familiar to us, express, perhaps, the most subtile and refined abstractions, which

the mind of man is capable of forming. Let any one consider within himself, for example, what he

means by the word three, which signifies neither three shillings, nor three pence, nor three men,

nor three horses, but three in general; and he will easily satisfy himself that a word, which

denotes so very metaphysical an abstraction, could not be either a very obvious or a very early

invention. I have read of some savage nations, whose language was capable of expressing no

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more than the three first numeral distinctions. But whether it expressed those distinctions by

three general words, or by variations upon the nouns substantive, denoting the things numbered,

I do not remember to have met with any thing which could determine.

As all the same relations which subsist between single, may likewise subsist between numerous

objects, it is evident there would be occasion for the same number of cases in the dual and in the

plural, as in the singular number. Hence the intricacy and complexness of the declensions in all

the ancient languages. In the Greek there are five cases in each of the three numbers,

consequently fifteen in all.

As nouns adjective, in the ancient languages, varied their terminations according to the gender of

the substantive to which they were applied, so did they likewise, according to the case and the

number. Every noun adjective in the Greek language, therefore, having three genders, and three

numbers, and five cases in each number, may be considered as having five and forty different

variations. The first formers of language seem to have varied the termination of the adjective,

according to the case and the number of the substantive, for the same reason which made them

vary it according to the gender;

the love of analogy, and of a certain regularity of sound. In the

signification of adjectives there is neither case nor number, and the meaning of such words is

always precisely the same, notwithstanding all the variety of termination under which they

appear. Magnus vir, magni viri, magnorum virorum; a great man, of a great man, of great men;

in all these expressions the words magnus, magni, magnorum, as well as the word great, have

precisely one and the same signification, though

the substantives to which they are applied have

not. The difference of termination in the noun adjective is accompanied with no sort of difference

in the meaning. An adjective denotes the qualification of a noun substantive. But the different

relations in which that noun substantive may occasionally stand, can make no sort of difference

upon its qualification.

If the declensions of the ancient languages are so very complex, their conjugations are infinitely

more so. And the complexness of the one is founded upon the same principle with that of the

other, the difficulty of forming, in the beginnings of language, abstract and general terms.

Verbs must necessarily have been coëval

with the very first attempts towards the formation of

language. No affirmation can be expressed without the assistance of some verb. We never speak

but in order to express our opinion that something either is or is not. But the word denoting this

event, or this matter of fact, which is the subject of our affirmation, must always be a verb.

Impersonal verbs, which express in one word a complete event, which preserve in the expression

that perfect simplicity and unity, which there always is in the object and in the idea, and which

suppose no abstraction, or metaphysical division of the event into its several constituent

members of subject and attribute, would, in all probability, be the species of verbs first invented.

The verbs pluit, it rains; ningit

, it snows; tonat, it thunders; lucet, it is day; turbatur, there is a

confusion, &c. each of them express a complete affirmation, the whole of an event, with that

perfect simplicity and unity with which the mind conceives it in nature. On the contrary, the

phrases, Alexander ambulat, Alexander walks; Petrus sedet, Peter sits, divide the event, as it

were, into two parts, the person or subject, and the attribute, or matter of fact, affirmed of that

subject. But in nature, the idea or conception of Alexander walking, is as perfectly and completely

one simple conception, as that of Alexander not walking. The division of this event, therefore, into

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two parts, is altogether artificial, and is the effect of the imperfection of language, which, upon

this, as upon many other occasions, supplies, by a number of words, the want of one, which could

express at once the whole matter of fact that was meant to be affirmed. Every body must observe

how much more simplicity there is in the natural expression, pluit, than in the more artifical

expressions, imber decidit, the rain falls; or tempestas est pluvia, the weather is rainy. In these

two last expressions, the simple event, or matter of fact, is artificially split and divided in the one,

into two; in the other, into three parts. In each of them it is expressed by a sort of grammatical

circumlocution, of which the significancy is founded upon a certain metaphysical analysis of the

component parts of the idea expressed by the word pluit. The first verbs, therefore, perhaps even

the first words, made use of in the beginnings of language, would in all probability be such

impersonal verbs. It is observed accordingly, I am told, by the Hebrew grammarians, that the

radical words of their language, from which all the others are derived, are all of them verbs, and

impersonal verbs.

It is easy to conceive how, in the progress of language, those impersonal verbs should become

personal. Let us suppose, for example, that the word venit, it comes, was originally an impersonal

verb, and that it denoted, not the coming of something in general, as at present, but the coming

of a particular object, such as the Lion.

The first savage inventors of language, we shall

suppose, when they observed the approach of this terrible animal, were accustomed to cry out to

one another, venit, that is, the lion comes; and that this word thus expressed a complete event,

without the assistance of any other. Afterwards, when, on the further progress of language, they

had begun to give names to particular substances, whenever they observed the approach of any

other terrible object, they would naturally join the name of that object to the word venit, and cry

out, venit ursus, venit lupus. By degrees the word venit would thus come to signify the coming of

any terrible object, and not merely the coming of the lion. It would now, therefore, express, not

the coming of a particular object, but the coming of an object of a particular kind. Having become

more general in its signification, it could no longer represent any particular distinct event by itself,

and without the assistance of a noun substantive, which might serve to ascertain and determine

its signification. It would now, therefore, have become a personal, instead of an impersonal verb.

We may easily conceive how, in the further progress of society, it might still grow more general in

its signification, and come to signify, as at present, the approach of any thing whatever, whether

good, bad, or indifferent.

It is probably in some such manner as this, that almost all verbs have become personal, and that

mankind have learned by degrees to split and divide almost every event into a great number of

metaphysical parts, expressed by the different parts of speech, variously combined in the

different members of every phrase and sentence

. The same sort of progress seems to have been

made in the art of speaking as in the art of writing. When mankind first began to attempt to

express their ideas by writing, every character represented a whole word. But the number of

words being almost infinite, the memory found itself quite loaded and oppressed by the multitude

of characters which it was obliged to retain. Necessity taught them, therefore, to divide words

into their elements, and to invent characters which should represent, not the words themselves,

but the elements of which they were composed. In consequence of this invention, every particular

word came to be represented, not by one character, but by a multitude of characters; and the

expression of it in writing became much more intricate and complex than before. But though

particular words were thus represented by a greater number of characters, the whole language

was expressed by a much smaller, and about four and twenty letters were found capable of

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supplying the place of that immense multitude of characters, which were requisite before. In the

same manner, in the beginnings of language, men seem to have attempted to express every

particular event, which they had occasion to take notice of, by a particular word, which expressed

at once the whole of that event. But as the number of words must, in this case, have become

really infinite, in consequence of the really infinite variety of events, men found themselves partly

compelled by necessity, and partly conducted by nature, to divide every event into what may be

called its metaphysical elements, and to institute words, which should denote not so much the

events, as the elements of which they were composed. The expression of every particular event,

became in this manner more intricate and complex, but the whole system of the language

became more coherent, more connected, more easily retained and comprehended.

When verbs, from being originally impersonal, had thus, by the division of the event into its

metaphysical elements, become personal, it is natural to suppose that they would first be made

use of in the third person singular. No verb is ever used impersonally in our language, nor, so far

as I know, in any other modern tongue. But in the ancient languages, whenever any verb is used

impersonally, it is always in the third person singular. The termination of those verbs, which are

still always impersonal, is constantly the same with that of the third person singular of personal

verbs. The consideration of these circumstances, joined to the naturalness of the thing itself, may

serve to convince us that verbs first became personal in what is now called the third person

singular.

But as the event, or matter of fact, which is expressed by a verb, may be affirmed either of the

person who speaks, or of the person who is spoken to, as well as of some third person or object,

it became necessary to fall upon some method of expressing these two peculiar relations of the

event. In the English language this is commonly done, by prefixing, what are called the personal

pronouns, to the general word which expresses the event affirmed. I came, you came, he or it

came

; in these phrases the event of having come is, in the first, affirmed of the speaker; in the

second, of the person spoken to; in the third, of some other person, or object. The first formers

of language, it may be imagined, might have done the same thing, and prefixing in the same

manner the two first personal pronouns, to the same termination of the verb, which expressed

the third person singular, might have said ego venit, tu venit, as well as ille or illud venit. And I

make no doubt but they would have done so, if at the time when they had first occasion to

express these relations of the verb, there had been any such words as either ego or tu in their

language. But in this early period of the

language, which we are now endeavouring to describe, it

is extremely improbable that any such words would be known. Though custom has now rendered

them familiar to us, they, both of them, express ideas extremely metaphysical and abstract. The

word I, for example, is a word of a very particular species. Whatever speaks may denote itself by

this personal pronoun. The word I, therefore, is a general word, capable of being predicated, as

the logicians say, of an infinite variety of objects. It differs, however, from all other general words

in this respect; that the objects of which it may be predicated, do not form any particular species

of objects distinguished from all others. The word I, does not, like the word man, denote a

particular class of objects, separated from all others by peculiar qualities of their own. It is far

from being the name of a species, but, on the contrary, whenever it is made use of, it always

denotes a precise individual, the particular person who then speaks. It may be said to be, at

once, both what the logicians call, a singular, and what they call, a common term; and to join in

its signification the seemingly opposite qualities of the most precise individuality, and the most

extensive generalization. This word, therefore, expressing so very abstract and metaphysical an

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idea, would not easily or readily occur to the first formers of language. What are called the

personal pronouns, it may be observed, are among the last words of

which children learn to

make use. A child, speaking of itself, says, Billy walks, Billy sits, insteads of I walk, I sit. As in the

beginnings of language, therefore, mankind seem to have evaded the invention of at least the

more abstract prepositions, and to have expressed the same relations which these now stand for,

by varying the termination of the co–relative term, so they likewise would naturally attempt to

evade the necessity of inventing those more abstract pronouns by varying the termination of the

verb, according as the event which it expressed was intended to be affirmed of the first, second,

or third person. This seems, accordingly, to be the universal practice of all the ancient languages.

In Latin, veni, venisti, venit, sufficiently denote, without any other addition, the different events

expressed by the English phrases, I came, you came, he or it came. The verb would, for the same

reason, vary its termination, according as the event was intended to be affirmed of the first,

second, or third persons plural; and what is expressed by the English phrases, we came, ye

came, they came, would be denoted by the Latin words, venimus, venistis, venerunt. Those

primitive languages, too, which, upon account of the difficulty of inventing numeral names, had

introduced a dual, as well as a plural number, into the declension of their nouns substantive,

would probably, from analogy, do the same thing in the conjugations of their verbs. And thus in

all those original languages, we might expect to find, at least six, if not eight or nine variations, in

the termination of every verb, according as the event which it denoted was meant to be affirmed

of the first, second, or third persons singular, dual, or plural. These variations again being

repeated, along with others,

through all its different tenses, through all its different modes, and

through

all its different voices, must necessarily have rendered their conjugations still more

intricate and complex than their declensions.

Language would probably have continued upon this footing in all countries, nor would ever have

grown more simple in its declensions and conjugations, had it not become more complex in its

composition, in consequence of the mixture of several languages with one another, occasioned by

the mixture of different nations. As long as any language was spoke by those only who learned it

in their infancy, the intricacy of its declensions and conjugations could occasion no great

embarrassment. The far greater part of those who had occasion to speak it, had acquired it at so

very early a period of their lives, so insensibly and by such slow degrees, that they were scarce

ever sensible of the difficulty. But when two nations came to be mixed with one another, either by

conquest or migration, the case would be very different. Each nation, in order to make itself

intelligible to those with whom it was under the necessity of conversing, would be obliged to learn

the language of the other. The greater part of individuals too, learning the new language, not by

art, or by remounting to its rudiments and first principles, but by rote, and by what they

commonly heard in conversation, would be extremely perplexed by the intricacy of its declensions

and conjugations. They would endeavour, therefore, to supply their ignorance of these, by

whatever shift the language could afford them. Their ignorance of the declensions they would

naturally supply by the use of prepositions; and a Lombard, who was attempting to speak Latin,

and wanted to express that such a person was a citizen of Rome, or a benefactor to Rome, if he

happened not to be acquainted with the genitive and dative cases of the word Roma, would

naturally express himself by prefixing the prepositions ad and de to the nominative; and, instead

of Roma, would say, ad Roma, and de Roma. Al Roma and di Roma, accordingly, is the manner in

which the present Italians, the descendants of the ancient Lombards and Romans, express this

and all other similar relations. And in this manner prepositions seem to have been introduced, in

the room of the ancient declensions. The same alteration has, I am informed, been produced

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upon the Greek language, since the taking of Constantinople by the Turks. The words are, in a

great measure, the same as before; but the grammar is entirely lost, prepositions having come in

the place of the old declensions. This change is undoubtedly a simplification of the language, in

point of rudiments and principle. It introduces, instead of a great variety of declensions, one

universal declension, which is the same in every word, of whatever gender, number, or

termination.

A similar expedient enables men, in the situation above mentioned, to get rid of almost the whole

intricacy of their conjugations. There is in every language a verb, known by the name of the

substantive verb; in Latin, sum; in English, I am. This verb denotes not the existence of any

particular event, but existence in general. It is, upon this account, the most abstract and

metaphysical of all verbs; and, consequently, could by no means be a word of early invention.

When it came to be invented, however, as it had all the tenses and modes of any other verb, by

being joined with the passive participle, it was capable of supplying the place of the whole passive

voice, and of rendering this part of their conjugations as simple and uniform, as the use of

prepositions had rendered their declensions. A Lombard, who wanted to say, I am loved, but

could not recollect the word amor, naturally endeavoured to supply his ignorance, by saying, ego

sum amatus. Io sono amato, is at this day the Italian expression, which corresponds to the

English phrase above mentioned.

There is another verb, which, in the same manner, runs through all languages, and which is

distinguished by the name of the possessive verb; in Latin, habeo; in English, I have. This verb,

likewise, denotes an event of an extremely abstract and metaphysical nature, and, consequently,

cannot be supposed to have been a word of the earliest invention. When it came to be invented,

however, by being applied to the passive participle, it was capable of supplying a great part of the

active voice, as the substantive verb had supplied the whole of the passive. A Lombard, who

wanted to say, I had loved, but could not recollect the word amaveram, would endeavour to

supply the place of it, by saying either ego habebam amatum, or ego habui amatum. Io avevá

amato, or Io ebbi amato, are the correspondent Italian expressions at this day. And thus upon

the intermixture of different nations with one another, the conjugations, by means of different

auxiliary verbs, were made to approach towards the simplicity and uniformity of the declensions.

In general it may be laid down for a maxim, that the more simple any language is in its

composition, the more complex it must be in its declensions and conjugations; and, on the

contrary, the more simple it is in its declensions and conjugations, the more complex it must be

in its composition.

The Greek seems to be, in a great measure, a simple, uncompounded language, formed from the

primitive jargon of those wandering savages, the ancient Hellenians and Pelasgians, from whom

the Greek nation is said to have been descended. All the words in the Greek language are derived

from about three hundred primitives, a plain evidence that the Greeks formed their language

almost entirely among themselves, and that when they had occasion for a new word, they were

not accustomed, as we are, to borrow it from some foreign language, but to form it, either by

composition, or derivation from some other word or words, in their own. The declensions and

conjugations, therefore, of the Greek are much more complex than those of any other European

language with which I am acquainted.

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The Latin is a composition of the Greek and of the ancient Tuscan languages. Its declensions and

conjugations accordingly are much less complex than those of the Greek; it has dropt the dual

number in both. Its verbs have no optative mood distinguished by any peculiar termination. They

have but one future. They have no aorist distinct from the preterit–perfect; they have no middle

voice; and even many of their tenses in the passive voice are eked out, in the same manner as in

the modern languages, by the help of the substantive verb joined to the passive participle. In

both the voices, the number of infinitives and participles is much smaller in the Latin than in the

Greek.

The French and Italian languages are each of them compounded, the one of the Latin, and the

language of the ancient Franks, the other of the same Latin, and the language of the ancient

Lombards. As they are both of them, therefore, more complex in their composition than the Latin,

so are they likewise more simple in their declensions and conjugations. With regard to their

declensions, they have both of them lost their cases altogether; and with regard to their

conjugations, they have both of them lost the whole of the passive, and some part of the active

voices of their verbs. The want of the passive voice they supply entirely by the substantive verb

joined to the passive participle; and they make out part of the active, in the same manner, by the

help of the possessive verb and the same passive participle.

The English is compounded of the French and the ancient Saxon languages. The French was

introduced into Britain by the Norman conquest, and continued, till the time of Edward III. to be

the sole language of the law as well as the principal language of the court.

The English, which

came to be

spoken afterwards, and which continues to be spoken

now, is a mixture of the

ancient Saxon and this Norman French. As the English language, therefore, is more complex in its

composition than either the French or the Italian, so is it likewise more simple in its declensions

and conjugations. Those two languages retain, at least, a part of the distinction of genders, and

their adjectives vary their termination according as they are applied to a masculine or to a

feminine substantive. But there is no such distinction in the English language, whose adjectives

admit of no variety of termination. The French and Italian languages have, both of them, the

remains of a conjugation;

and all those tenses of the active voice, which cannot be expressed by

the possessive verb joined to the passive participle, as well as many of those which can, are, in

those languages, marked by varying the termination of the principal verb. But almost all those

other tenses are in the English eked out by other auxiliary verbs, so that there is in this language

scarce even the remains of a conjugation. I love, I loved, loving, are all the varieties of

termination which the greater part of English verbs admit of. All the different modifications of

meaning, which cannot be expressed by any of those three terminations, must be made out by

different auxiliary verbs joined to some one or other of them. Two auxiliary verbs supply all the

deficiencies of the French and Italian conjugations; it requires more than half a dozen to supply

those of the English, which, besides the substantive and possessive verbs, makes use of do, did;

will, would; shall, should; can, could; may, might.

It is in this manner that language becomes more simple in its rudiments and principles, just in

proportion as it grows more complex in its composition, and the same thing has happened in it,

which commonly happens with regard to mechanical engines. All machines are generally, when

first invented, extremely complex in their principles, and there is often a particular principle of

motion for every particular movement which it is intended they should perform. Succeeding

improvers observe, that one principle may be so applied as to produce several of those

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movements;

and thus the machine becomes gradually more and more simple, and produces its

effects with fewer wheels, and fewer principles of motion. In language, in the same manner,

every case of every noun, and every tense of every verb, was originally expressed by a particular

distinct word, which served for this purpose and for no other. But succeeding observation

discovered, that one set of words was capable of supplying the place of all that infinite number,

and that four or five prepositions, and half a dozen auxiliary verbs, were capable of answering the

end of all the declensions, and of all the conjugations in the ancient languages.

But this simplification of languages, though it arises, perhaps, from similar causes, has by no

means similar effects with the correspondent simplification of machines. The simplification of

machines renders them more and more perfect, but this simplification of the rudiments of

languages renders them more and more imperfect, and less proper for many of the purposes of

language:

and this for the following reasons.

First of all, languages are by this simplification rendered more prolix, several words having

become necessary to express what could have been expressed by a single word before. Thus the

words, Dei and Deo, in the Latin, sufficiently show, without any addition, what relation the object

signified is understood to stand in to the objects expressed by the other words in the sentence.

But to express the same relation in English, and in all other modern languages, we must make

use of, at least, two words, and say, of God, to God. So far as the declensions are concerned,

therefore, the modern languages are much more prolix than the ancient. The difference is still

greater with regard to the conjugations. What a Roman expressed by the single word,

amavissem, an Englishman is obliged to express by four different words, I should have loved. It is

unnecessary to take any pains to show how much this prolixness must enervate the eloquence of

all modern languages. How much the beauty of any expression depends upon its conciseness, is

well known to those who have any experience in composition.

Secondly, this simplification of the principles of languages renders them less agreeable to the ear.

The variety of termination in the Greek and Latin, occasioned by their declensions and

conjugations, gives

a sweetness to their language altogether unknown to ours, and a variety

unknown to any other modern language. In point of sweetness, the Italian, perhaps, may surpass

the Latin, and almost equal the Greek; but in point of variety, it is greatly inferior to both.

Thirdly, this simplification, not only renders the sounds of our language less agreeable to the ear,

but it also restrains us from disposing such sounds as we have, in the manner that might be most

agreeable. It ties down many words to a particular situation, though they might often be placed in

another with much more beauty. In the Greek and Latin, though the adjective and substantive

were separated from one another, the correspondence of their terminations still showed their

mutual reference, and the separation did not necessarily occasion any sort of confusion. Thus in

the first line of Virgil,

Tityre tu patulæ recubans sub tegmine fagi;

we easily see that tu refers to recubans, and patulæ to fagi; though the related words are

separated from one another by the intervention of several others; because the terminations,

showing the correspondence of their cases, determine their mutual reference. But if we were to

translate this line literally into English, and say, Tityrus,

thou of spreading reclining under the

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shade beech. OEdipus himself could not make sense of it; because there is here no difference of

termination, to determine which substantive each adjective belongs to. It is the same case with

regard to verbs. In Latin the verb may often be placed, without any inconveniency or ambiguity,

in any part of the sentence. But in English its place is almost always precisely determined. It must

follow the subjective and precede the objective member of the phrase in almost all cases. Thus in

Latin whether you say, Joannem verberavit Robertus, or Robertus verberavit Joannem, the

meaning is precisely the same, and the termination fixes John to be the sufferer in both cases.

But in English John beat Robert, and Robert beat John, have by no means the same signification.

The place therefore of the three principal members of the phrase is in the English, and for the

same reason in the French and Italian languages, almost always precisely determined; whereas in

the ancient languages a greater latitude is allowed, and the place of those members is often, in a

great measure, indifferent. We must have recourse to Horace, in order to interpret some parts of

Milton’s literal translation;

Who now enjoys thee credulous all gold,

Who always vacant, always amiable

Hopes thee; of flattering gales

Unmindful—

are verses which it is impossible to interpret by any rules of our language. There are no rules in

our language,

by which any man could discover, that, in the first line, credulous referred to who,

and not to thee; or that all gold referred to any thing; or, that in the fourth line, unmindful,

referred to who, in the second, and not to thee in the third; or, on the contrary, that, in the

second line, always vacant, always amiable, referred to thee

in the third, and not to who in the

same line with it. In the Latin, indeed, all this is abundantly plain.

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,

Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem

Sperat te; nescius auræ fallacis.

Because the terminations in the Latin determine the reference of each adjective to its proper

substantive, which it is impossible for any thing in the English to do:

How much this power of

transposing the order of their words must have facilitated the composition of the ancients, both in

verse and prose, can hardly be imagined.

That it must greatly have facilitated their

versification it is needless to observe; and in prose, whatever beauty depends upon the

arrangement and construction of the several members of the period, must to them have been

acquirable with much more ease, and to much greater perfection, than it can be to those whose

expression is constantly confined by the prolixness, constraint, and monotony of modern

languages.

FINIS.

ENDNOTES

[1 ] For full title (set out in capitals in 3–5) see Note on the Text; only 6 abbreviates it thus.

Smith seems to show some indifference to what his essay is called.

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[2 ] This fanciful account could have been suggested by the passage in the Abbé Étienne Bonnet

de Condillac’s Essai sur l’origine des connoissances humaines (1746) referred to in Rousseau’s

Discours (see below). Adam and Eve had the gift of speech as part of their God–given perfection;

‘mais je suppose que, quelque temps après le déluge, deux enfans, de l’un et de l’autre sexe,

aient été égarés dans des déserts, avant qu’ils connussent l’usage d’aucun signe.’ Eventually their

child develops the use of lingual signs: II.sec.1 préambule, to sec.7. Condillac cites the Essai sur

les Hiéroglyphes des Égyptiens (1744, 48) by ‘M. Warburthon’, i.e. the translation by M. A.

Leonard des Malpeines of Warburton’s The Divine Legation of Moses Demonstrated (1741, Bk IV

sec.iv). Warburton himself refers to Diodorus Siculus ii and Vitruvius ii.1, on the beginnings of

articulate human sounds in mutual association; also to Gregory of Nyssa, Adversus Eunomium xii;

the seventeenth century Hebraist Richard Simon, Histoire critique du Vieux Testament i.14–15,

iii.21; and J. F. Lafitau, Moeurs des sauvages amériquains, comparées aux moeurs des premiers

temps (1724), i.482; cf. LJ(A), ii.96. Smith had copies of both Condillac’s Essai (1746) and of his

Traité des sensations (1754), part of the background of the essay ‘Of the External Senses’ in EPS.

[

a–a

] roman type PM 3

[

] a in roman type PM 3

[

] names PM

[* ]

Origine de l’Inegalité.

Partie Premiere, p. 376, 377. Edition d’Amsterdam des Oeuvres

diverses de J. J. Rousseau.

[4 ] The grammatical terms noun adjective and noun substantive, taken from late Latin nomen

adiectivum and nomen substantivum, were normal usage from the late fourteenth century, but

were rivalled from c. 1500 by the simple adjective and substantive (the latter eventually almost

wholly replaced by noun). The first probably sounded a little archaic, and ambiguous, in 1761.

‘What is an Adjective? I dare not call it Noun Adjective’ (Horne Tooke, Diversions of Purley, 1786,

II.vi).

[

] &c PM 3–5

[

] show PM 3–5

[

] PM has the before Grammarians

[

] PM omits as

[

] substance. The PM

[

] seems PM 3

[

] above–mentioned PM 3

[

] formation PM

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[

] Substantives PM 3

[

m–m

] Man, . . . Woman, PM 3

[

] PM 3 omits the

[

] PM 3 omits the

[

] relation; the PM 3

[

] would probably soon PM

[5 ]

The ancient Greeks were acquainted through their colonies in Asia Minor with the Armenian

language, which they associated with Phrygian; but I have found no source for this statement on

its cases. Primitive Indo–European had, besides the six cases of Latin, a locative and an

instrumental, and Old Armenian had an additional objective case formed by the prefix z–. The

plural in –k may be confusing the issue; but, if authentic, the statement may partly involve the

large non–Indo–European element absorbed by the Armenians into their vocabulary when c.1200

BC they overran the speakers of Urartian and Hurrian. In Smith’s time the Armenian of the

classical period,

AD 400–460, had been artificially revived as a literary language; but in that

period the cases had fallen together into only four forms. In 1710 Leibniz described Armenian in a

paper to the Berlin Academy as a mixed language and as in need of more study. Modern

treatments include A. Meillet, Esquisse d’une grammaire comparée de l’arménien classique (ed. 2,

1936) and H. Jensen, Altarmenische Grammatik (1959); on the history of the study, H. Zeller in

Geschichte der indogermanischen Sprachwissenschaft, iv (1927).

[

] forest; 3

[6 ] On number cf. Rousseau’s Discours as above; note 11 (pp. 250–2, 1755 ed.).

[7 ]

Examples nearer home would be the Old Irish noun and the 1st and 2nd personal pronouns

in Old English.

[

] Gender, PM 3

[

] tho PM 3–5

[

] coeval PM 3–5

[

] nigit, PM

[

] the Lion PM 3

[* ]

As the far greater part of verbs

express, at present, not an event, but the attribute of an

event, and, consequently, require a subject, or nominative case, to complete their signification,

some grammarians, not having attended to this progress of nature, and being desirous to make

their common rules quite universal, and without any exception, have insisted that all verbs

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required a nominative, either expressed or understood; and have, accordingly, put themselves to

the torture to find some awkward nominatives to those few verbs, which still expressing a

complete event, plainly admit of none. Pluit, for example, according to Sanctius, means pluvia

pluit, in English, the rain rains. See Sanctii Minerva, l. 3. c. 1.

[

] came, PM

[

] their PM

[

] PM 3 omit of

[

b–b

] thro’ in all three cases 3 5

[9 ] Parliament was first opened in English, by Edward III, in 1362, and in the same decade

English began to be used in the law courts.

[

c–c

] spoke in both cases PM

[

] conjugation, PM 3–5

[

] movements, PM 3–5

[

] Language: PM

[

] give PM 3–5

[

] Virgil: then line Ecl. I.1 in italic, full stop, then We . . . PM 3–5

[

] Tyterus, PM 3

[

] Milton’s lines in italic PM 3–5; then full stop and Are PM 3 (are 4), or semicolon and are 5

[10 ] Milton’s unrhymed translation of the Pyrrha ode of Horace (I.v) was metrically influential in

the 1740s. The brothers Thomas and Joseph Warton imitated its stanza, and probably led to their

friend William Collins choosing it for his ‘Ode to Evening’ (in Odes on Several Descriptive and

Allegoric Subjects, Dec. 1746, dated 1747; often reprinted).

[

] PM 3–5: 6 has lahguage

[

] thee PM

[

] Horace’s lines in italic PM 3–5; aurea PM 3–5, aurea 4–6

[11 ]

PM and 3 print Fallacis as a fourth line; the practice of running the third and fourth lines of

Latin lyric stanzas together (as 4–6 here do) was not uncommon. More curious is the presence in

all editions of the ‘Considerations’ of the redundant te in line 3: curious that the metrically

sensitive Adam Smith should have misremembered the Pherecratean third line of the Fourth

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Asclepiad, to which this ode belongs.

[

] do. PM 3–5

[12 ]

On this familiar truth cf. Du Bos, Réflexions critiques sur la poésie et sur la peinture

(1719), ch. xxxv: ‘Avantage des Poëtes qui ont composé en latin sur ceux qui composent en

François’. It accounts for the prominence given to word–order (the resources of rhythm,

significant juxtaposition, emphasis etc.) by the ancient rhetoricians, e.g. Dionysius of

Halicarnassus, De compositione verborum; Longinus, On the Sublime, xxix–xxxii; Quintilian,

IX.iv; Demetrius, De elocutione, II.38–74, IV.199 ff.

Notes to The Notes

[3 ] (inegalité PM 3; premiere PM 3–5). The reference is to Discours sur l’origine et les

fondemens de l’inégalité parmi les hommes Par Jean Jaques Rousseau citoyen de Genève (1755),

I.§§23–31. The dilemma there posed is that generalization is possible only if we possess words

but that words are made possible only by the power to generalize; and so ‘on jugera combien il

eût falu de milliers de Siécles, pour développer successivement dans l’Esprit humain les

Opérations, dont il étoit capable.’ A few months after the appearance of the Discours on 24 April

1755 Smith had quoted extensively from it in his Letter to the Edinburgh Review No 2 (see EPS

250–4).

[

] Verbs PM 3 4

[8 ] Minerva, seu de causis Linguae Latinae Commentarius by Franciscus Sanctius (i.e. Francisco

Sanchez of Salamanca), first published 1587. (Smith owned the 5th ed. 1733). Lib. III.cap.i

(194–6 in ed. 3, 1704), ‘De Constructione verborum. Exploduntur Impersonalia Grammaticorum’,

refutes the absurd impersonalia falsely called naturae by the grammarians. There is nothing to

prevent pluit etc. occurring in the 1st person ‘si modo loquatur Deus. Integra ergo est oratio, pluit

pluvia, fulget fulgur, lucescit lux: licebit tamen pro proprio recto suppresso, aliud exprimere; Ut.

Deus pluit, et pluunt lapides’. Examples follow from Plautus, Martial, Tibullus, etc.

APPENDIX 1

THE BEE, OR

LITERARY WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER, FOR WEDNESDAY, MAY

11, 1791.

Anecdotes tending to throw light on the character and opinions of the late Adam Smith, L L D,—

author of the wealth of nations, and several other well–known performances.

It has been often observed, that the history of a literary person consists chiefly of his works. The

works of Dr. Adam Smith are so generally known, as to stand in need neither of enumeration nor

encomium in this place;—nor could a dry detail of the dates when he entered to such a school or

college, or when he obtained such or such a step of advancement in rank or fortune, prove

interesting. It is enough, if our readers be informed, that Mr. Smith having discharged for some

years, with great applause, the important duties of professor of moral philosophy in Glasgow, was

made choice of as a proper person to superintend the education of the Duke of Buccleugh, and to

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accompany him in his tour to Europe. In the discharge of this duty, he gave so much satisfaction

to all the parties concerned, as to be able, by their interest, to obtain the place of commissioner

of customs and salt duties in Scotland; with the emoluments arising from which office, and his

other acquirements, he was enabled to spend the latter part of his life in a state of independent

tranquillity. Before his death, he burnt all his manuscripts, except one, which, we hear, contains a

history of Astronomy, which will probably be laid before the public by his executors in due time.

Instead of a formal drawn character of this great man, which often tends to prejudice rather than

to inform, the Editor believes his readers will be much better pleased to see some features of his

mind fairly delineated by himself, as in the following pages, which were transmitted to him under

the strongest assurances of authenticity;—concerning which, indeed, he entertained no doubt

after their perusal, from the coincidence of certain opinions here mentioned, with what he himself

had heard maintained by that gentleman.

SIR,

In the year 1780, I had frequent occasion to be in company with the late well–known Dr. Adam

Smith. When business ended, our conversation took a literary turn; I was then young, inquisitive,

and full of respect for his abilities as an author. On his part, he was extremely communicative,

and delivered himself, on every subject, with a freedom, and even boldness, quite opposite to the

apparent reserve of his appearance. I took down notes of his conversation, and have here sent

you an abstract of them. I have neither added, altered, nor diminished, but merely put them into

such a shape as may fit them for the eye of your readers.

Of the late Dr. Samuel Johnson, Dr. Smith had a very contemptuous opinion. ‘I have seen that

creature,’ said he, ‘bolt up in the midst of a mixed company; and, without any previous notice,

fall upon his knees behind a chair, repeat the Lord’s Prayer, and then resume his seat at table.—

He has played this freak over and over, perhaps five or six times in the course of an evening. It is

not hypocrisy, but madness. Though an honest sort of man himself, he is always patronising

scoundrels. Savage, for instance, whom he so loudly praises, was but a worthless fellow; his

pension of fifty pounds never lasted him longer than a few days. As a sample of his economy, you

may take a circumstance, that Johnson himself once told me. It was, at that period, fashionable

to wear scarlet cloaks trimmed with gold lace; and the Doctor met him one day, just after he had

got his pension, with one of these cloaks upon his back, while, at the same time, his naked toes

were sticking through his shoes.’

He was no admirer of the Rambler or the Idler, and hinted, that he had never been able to read

them.—He was averse to the contest with America, yet he spoke highly of Johnson’s political

pamphlets: But, above all, he was charmed with that respecting Falkland’s Islands, as it

displayed, in such forcible language, the madness of modern wars.

I inquired his opinion of the late Dr. Campbell, author of the Political Survey of Great Britain. He

told me, that he never had been above once in his company; that the Doctor was a voluminous

writer, and one of those authors who write from one end of the week to the other, without

interruption. A gentleman, who happened to dine with Dr. Campbell in the house of a common

acquaintance, remarked, that he would be glad to possess a complete set of the Doctor’s works.

The hint was not lost; for next morning he was surprised at the appearance of a cart before his

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door. The cart was loaded with the books he had asked for;—the driver’s bill amounted to seventy

pounds! As Dr. Campbell composed a part of the universal history, and of the Biographia

Britannica, we may suppose, that these two ponderous articles formed a great part of the cargo.

The Doctor was in use to get a number of copies of his publications from the printer, and keep

them in his house for such an opportunity. A gentleman who came in one day, exclaimed; with

surprise, ‘Have you ever read all these books’.—‘Nay’, replied Doctor Campbell, laughing, ‘I have

written them’.

Of Swift, Dr. Smith made frequent and honourable mention. He denied, that the Dean could ever

have written the Pindarics printed under his name. He affirmed, that he wanted nothing but

inclination to have become one of the greatest of all poets. ‘But in place of this, he is only a

gossiper, writing merely for the entertainment of a private circle’. He regarded Swift, both in stile

and sentiment, as a pattern of correctness. He read to me some of the short poetical addresses to

Stella, and was particularly pleased with one Couplet.—‘Say, Stella, feel you no content, reflecting

on a life well–spent’.—Though the Dean’s verses are remarkable for ease and simplicity, yet the

composition required an effort. To express this difficulty, Swift used to say, that a verse came

from him like a guinea. Dr. Smith considered the lines on his own death, as the Dean’s poetical

master–piece. He thought that upon the whole, his poetry was correct, after he settled in Ireland,

when he was, as he himself said, surrounded ‘only by humble friends’.

The Doctor had some singular opinions. I was surprised at hearing him prefer Livy to all other

historians, ancient and modern. He knew of no other who had even a pretence to rival him, if

David Hume could not claim that honour. He regretted, in particular, the loss of his account of the

civil wars in the age of Julius Caesar; and when I attempted to comfort him by the library at Fez,

he cut me short. I would have expected Polybius to stand much higher in his esteem than Livy, as

having a much nearer resemblance to Dr. Smith’s own manner of writing. Besides his miracles,

Livy contains an immense number of the most obvious and gross falsehoods.

He was no sanguine admirer of Shakespeare. ‘Voltaire, you know,’ says he, ‘calls Hamlet the

dream of a drunken savage’.—‘He has good scenes, but not one good play’. The Doctor, however,

would not have permitted any body else to pass this verdict with impunity: For when I once

afterwards, in order to sound him, hinted a disrespect for Hamlet, he gave a smile, as if he

thought I would detect him in a contradiction and replied, ‘Yes! but still Hamlet is full of fine

passages’.

He had an invincible contempt and aversion for blank verse, Milton’s always excepted. ‘They do

well, said he, to call it blank, for blank it is; I myself, even I, who never could find a single rhime

in my life, could make blank verse as fast as I could speak; nothing but laziness hinders our

tragic poets from writing, like the French, in rhime. Dryden, had he possessed but a tenth part of

Shakespeare’s dramatic genius, would have brought rhyming tragedies into fashion here as well

as they are in France, and then the mob would have admired them just as much as they now

pretend to despise them’.

Beatie’s minstrel he would not allow to be called a poem; for it had, he said, no plan, no

beginning, middle, or end. He thought it only a series of verses, but a few of them very happy. As

for the translation of the Iliad, ‘They do well,’ he said, ‘to call it Pope’s Homer; for it is not

Homer’s Homer. It has no resemblance to the majesty and simplicity of the Greek’. He read over

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to me l’Allegro, and II’ Penseroso, and explained the respective beauties of each, but added, that

all the rest of Milton’s short poems were trash. He could not imagine what had made Johnson

praise the poem on the death of Mrs. Killigrew, and compare it with Alexander’s Feast. The

criticism had induced him to read it over, and with attention, twice, and he could not discover

even a spark of merit. At the same time, he mentioned Gray’s odes, which Johnson has damned

so completely; and in my humble opinion with so much justice, as the standard of lyric

excellence. He did not much admire the Gentle Shepherd. He preferred the Pastor Fido, of which

he spoke with rapture, and the Eclogues of Virgil. I pled as well as I could for Allan Ramsay,

because I regard him as the single unaffected poet whom we have had since Buchanan.

Proximus huic longo, sed proximus intervallo.

He answered: ‘It is the duty of a poet to write like a gentleman. I dislike that homely stile which

some think fit to call the language of nature and simplicity, and so forth. In Percy’s reliques too, a

few tolerable pieces are buried under a heap of rubbish. You have read perhaps Adam Bell Clym,

of the Cleugh, and William of Cloudeslie’. I answered yes. ‘Well then’, said he, ‘do you think that

was worth printing’. He reflected with some harshness on Dr. Goldsmith; and repeated a variety

of anecdotes to support his censure.

They amounted to prove that Goldsmith loved a wench and a bottle; and that a lie, when to serve

a special end, was not excluded from his system of morality. To commit these stories to print,

would be very much in the modern taste; but such proceedings appear to me as an absolute

disgrace to typography.

He never spoke but with ridicule and detestation of the reviews. He said that it was not easy to

conceive in what contempt they were held in London. I mentioned a story I had read of Mr. Burke

having seduced and dishonoured a young lady, under promise of marriage. ‘I imagine’, said he,

‘that you have got that fine story out of some of the magazines. If any thing can be lower than

the Reviews, they are so. They once had the impudence to publish a story of a gentleman’s

having debauched his own sister; and upon inquiry, it came out that the gentleman never had a

sister. As to Mr. Burke, he is a worthy honest man. He married an accomplished girl, without a

shilling of fortune’. I wanted to get the Gentleman’s Magazine excepted from his general censure;

but he would not hear me. He never, he said, looked at a Review, nor even knew the names of

the publishers.

He was fond of Pope, and had by heart many favourite passages; but he disliked the private

character of the man. He was, he said, all affectation, and mentioned his letter to Arbuthnot,

when the latter was dying, as a consummate specimen of canting; which to be sure it is. He had

also a very high opinion of Dryden, and loudly extolled his fables. I mentioned Mr. Hume’s

objections; he replied, ‘You will learn more as to poetry by reading one good poem, than by a

thousand volumes of criticism’. He quoted some passages in Defoe, which breathed, as he

thought, the true spirit of English verse.

He disliked Meikle’s translation of the Lusiad, and esteemed the French version of that work as far

superior. Meikle, in his preface, has contradicted with great frankness, some of the positions

advanced in the Doctor’s inquiry, which may perhaps have disgusted him; but in truth, Meikle is

only an indifferent rhymer.

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You have lately quoted largely from Lord Gardenstoun’s Remarks on English Plays; and I observe,

that this lively and venerable critic, damns by far the greater part of them. In this sentiment, Dr.

Smith, agreed most heartily with his Lordship; he regarded the French theatre as the standard of

dramatic excellence.

He said, that at the beginning of the present reign, the dissenting ministers had been in use to

receive two thousand pounds a year from government, that the Earl of Bute had, as he thought,

most improperly deprived them of this allowance, and that he supposed this to be the real motive

of their virulent opposition to government.

If you think these notes worthy a place in your miscellany, they are at your service. I have

avoided many personal remarks which the Doctor threw out, as they might give pain to

individuals, and I commit nothing to your care, which I believe, that I could have much offended

the Doctor by transmitting to the press.

I am, Sir, Yours &c,

AMICUS.

Glasgow

April 9th 1791.

ENDNOTES

[* ] It is entertaining to observe men of abilities contradict each other on topics apparently

simple. Dr. Smith admired as the very climax of dramatic excellence, Voltaire’s Mahomet; on the

other hand, Lord Gardenstoun pronounces, that every line in the play betrays a total want of

genius, and even of taste for tragic composition. It is not my business to balance accounts

between his Lordship and the Doctor.

APPENDIX 2

TABLE OF CORRESPONDING PASSAGES

The first column gives volume and page number from the manuscript. The second column gives

the corresponding pages in the Lothian edition of 1963.

Lecture II

i.1 1

i.2 1

i.3 1–2

i.4 2

i.5 2

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Lecture III

i.6 2–3

i.7 3

i.v.7 3

i.8 3–4

i.9 4

i.10 4–5

i.v.10 5

i.11 5

i.12 5

i.13 5

i.14 6

i.15 6

i.16 6

i.17 7

i.18 7

i.v.18 7

i.19 8

i.v.19 8

i.20 8

i.21 8

i.v.21 8

i.v.22 9

i.v.23 9

i.v.24 9

i.v.25 9

i.v.26 9–10

i.v.27 10

i.v.28 10

i.v.29 10

i.v.30 10–11

i.v.31 11

i.33 11

i.v.33 11

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Lecture IV

Lecture V

i.v.34 11

i.37 12

i.v.37 12

i.v.38 12–13

i.39 13

i.v.39 13

i.v.40 13

i.40 13

i.41 13–14

i.v.40 14

i.v.41 14

i.v.42 14–15

i.43 15

i.v.43 15

i.v.44 15

i.v.45 15–16

i.v.46 16

i.v.47 16–17

i.48 17

i.v.48 17

i.49 18

i.v.49 18

i.v.50 18

i.50 18–19

i.51 19

i.v.50 19

i.v.51 19

i.v.52 19

i.53 19–20

i.52

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Lecture VI

Lecture VII

i.v.52

20–1

i.52

i.v.52

i.v.53 22

i.v.54 22

i.v.55 22

i.v.56 22–3

i.v.57 23

i.v.58 23

i.v.59 23–4

i.60 24

i.v.60 24

i.61 24–5

i.62 25

i.63 25

i.64 25–6

i.65 26

i.66 26

i.v.66 26–7

i.v.67 27

i.v.68 27–8

i.69 28

i.70 28

i.71 28

i.73 29

i.74 29

i.75 29–30

i.76 30

i.77 30

i.78 30

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Lecture VIII

i.79 30–1

i.80 31

i.81 31

i.82 31

i.83 31–2

i.84 32

i.85 32

i.86 32–3

i.87 33

i.88 33

i.89 33–4

i.90 34

i.91 34

i.92 34

i.93 34–5

i.94 35

i.95 35

i.96 36

i.97 36

i.98 36

i.99 36–7

i.100 37

i.101 37

i.102 37–8

i.103 38

i.104 38

i.105 38–9

i.106 39

i.107 39

i.108 39–40

i.109 40

i.110 40–1

i.111 41

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Lecture IX

Lecture X

Lecture XI

i.112 41

i.113 41–2

i.114 42

i.115 42

i.116 42

i.v.116 42–3

i.117 44

i.118 44

i.119 44–5

i.120 45

i.121 45

i.122 45–6

i.123 46

i.124 46

i.125 46–7

i.126 47

i.v.124–5 47

i.126 48

i.127 48

i.128 48–9

i.129 49

i.130 49–50

i.131 50

i.133 51

i.135 51

i.136 51–2

i.137 52

i.138 52

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Lecture XII

Lecture XIII

i.139 52–3

i.140 53

i.141 53

i.142 53–4

i.143 54

i.144 54

i.145 54–5

i.146 55–6

i.147 56

i.148 56

i.v.148 56–7

i.149 58

i.150 58–9

i.151 59

i.152 59

i.153 59–60

i.154 60

i.155 60–1

i.156 61

i.157 61–2

i.158 62

i.160 63

i.161 63–4

i.162 64

i.163 64

i.164 64–5

i.165 65

i.166 65

i.167 65–6

i.168 66

i.169 66

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Lecture XIV

Lecture XV

i.170 66–7

i.171 67

i.172 67

i.173 68

i.174 68

i.v.172 68

i.175 68

i.176 69

i.177 69

i.178 69–70

i.179 70

i.180 70–1

i.181 71

i.182 71

i.183 71

i.184 71–2

i.185 72

i.186 72

i.187 72–3

i.188 73–4

i.188 74

i.189 74

i.190 74

i.191 74–5

i.192 75–6

i.193 76

i.194 76

i.195 76–7

i.196 77

i.197 77–8

i.198 78

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Lecture XVI

Lecture XVII

i.199 78–9

i.200 79

ii.1 80

ii.2 80

ii.3 80–1

ii.4 81

ii.5 81

ii.6 81

ii.7 81–2

ii.8 82

ii.9 82

ii.10 82–3

ii.11 83

ii.12 84

ii.13 84

ii.14 84–5

ii.15 85

ii.16 85

ii.17 85–6

ii.18 86

ii.19 86–7

ii.20 87

ii.21 87

ii.22 87–8

ii.23 88–9

ii.24 89

ii.25 89–90

ii.26 90

ii.27 90

ii.28 90–1

ii.29 91

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Lecture XVIII

Lecture XIX

ii.30 91–2

ii.31 93

ii.32 93–4

ii.33 94

ii.34 94

ii.35 94–5

ii.36 95–6

ii.37 96

ii.38 96

ii.39 96–7

ii.40 97

ii.41 97–8

ii.42 98

ii.43 98–9

ii.44 99–100

ii.44 100

ii.45 100

ii.46 100–01

ii.47 101

ii.48 101

ii.49 101–02

ii.50 102

ii.51 102–03

ii.52 103

ii.53 103–04

ii.54 104

ii.55 104

ii.56 104–05

ii.57 105

ii.58 105–06

ii.59 106

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Lecture XX

Lecture XXI

ii.60 106–07

ii.60 107

ii.61 107

ii.62 107–08

ii.63 108

ii.64 108

ii.65 108–09

ii.66 109

ii.67 109–10

ii.68 110

ii.69 110

ii.70 110–11

ii.71 111

ii.72 111–12

ii.73 112

ii.73 113

ii.74 113

ii.75 113–14

ii.76 114

ii.77 114–15

ii.78 115

ii.79 115

ii.80 115–16

ii.81 116

ii.82 116–17

ii.83 117

ii.84 117

ii.85 117–18

ii.86 118

ii.87 118–19

ii.88 119

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Lecture XXII

Lecture XXIII

ii.89 119

ii.90 120

ii.91 120–1

ii.v.91 121

ii.92 121

ii.93 121–2

ii.94 122

ii.95 122–3

ii.96 123

ii.97 124

ii.98 124–5

ii.99 125

ii.100 125

ii.101 125–6

ii.102 126

ii.103 126–7

ii.104 127

ii.105 127

ii.106 127–8

ii.107 128

ii.108 128–9

ii.109 129

ii.110 129–30

ii.110 130

ii.111 130

ii.112 130–1

ii.113 131

ii.114 131

ii.115 131–2

ii.116 132

ii.117 132–3

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Lecture XXIV

Lecture XXV

ii.119 133

ii.120 133–4

ii.121 134

ii.122 134–5

ii.123 135

ii.124 135

ii.125 136

ii.126 136–7

ii.127 137

ii.128 137–8

ii.129 138

ii.130 138

ii.131 138–9

ii.132 139

ii.133 139–40

ii.134 140

ii.135 140

ii.136 140–1

ii.137 141

ii.138 142

ii.139 142

ii.140 142–3

ii.141 143

ii.142 143–4

ii.143 144

ii.144 144

ii.145 144–5

ii.146 145

ii.147 145–6

ii.148 146

ii.149 146–7

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Lecture XXVI

Lecture XXVII

ii.v.149 147

ii.150 147

ii.151 148

ii.152 148

ii.153 148–9

ii.154 149

ii.155 149

ii.156 149–50

ii.157 150

ii.158 150–1

ii.159 151

ii.160 151

ii.161 151–2

ii.162 152

ii.163 152–3

ii.164 153

ii.165 153–4

ii.166 154

ii.167 154–5

ii.168 155

ii.169 155

ii.170 155–6

ii.171 156

ii.172 156–7

ii.172–3 157

ii.174 157–8

ii.175 158

ii.176 158

ii.177 158–9

ii.178 159

ii.179 159–60

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Lecture XXVIII

Lecture XXIX

ii.180 160

ii.181 160–1

ii.182 161

ii.183 161

ii.184 161–2

ii.185 162

ii.186 162–3

ii.187 163

ii.188 163

ii.189 164

ii.190 164

ii.191 164–5

ii.192 165

ii.193 165–6

ii.194 166

ii.195 166–7

ii.196 167

ii.197 167–8

ii.198 168

ii.199 168

ii.200 168–9

ii.201 169

ii.202 169–70

ii.203 170

ii.204 170

ii.205 170–2

ii.205 172

ii.206 172

ii.207 172–3

ii.208 173

ii.209 173–4

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Lecture XXX

ii.210 174

ii.211 174–5

ii.212 175

ii.213 175

ii.214 175–6

ii.215 176

ii.216 176

ii.217 176–7

ii.218 177

ii.219 177–8

ii.220 178

ii.221 179

ii.222 179–80

ii.223 180

ii.224 180–1

ii.225 181

ii.226 181

ii.227 181–2

ii.228 182

ii.229 182–3

ii.230 183

ii.231 183–4

ii.232 184

ii.233 185

ii.234 185

ii.235 185–6

ii.236 186

ii.237 186–7

ii.238 187

ii.239 187–8

ii.240 188

ii.241 188

ii.242 188–9

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ENDNOTES

[* ] Since there are some blank pages in the manuscript, the sequence of numbers is on

occasion irregular. References to passages written on the verso side of a page (marked ‘v’) also

occur out of sequence to take account of variation in their position.

ii.243 189

ii.244 189–90

ii.245 190

ii.246 190

ii.247 190–1

ii.248 191

ii.249 191–2

ii.250 192

ii.251 192

ii.252 192–3

ii.253 193

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